Strong-Minded
by elsarenard
Summary: Hooper has worked her entire life to put aside the realities of her sex, disguising herself as a man. She lives a solitary existence, until one day Irene Adler appears in her morgue. Molly is drawn into an intricate mystery, plots that threaten to expose her, and the affections of a woman, whom she believes loves her as a man. Victorianlock. Mollrene. Femslash.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Well, I'll add warnings as I progress into the plot and gain more momentum, but for the moment I'm recommending anyone who dislikes femslash to leave as this is a Mollrene story. I also warn early on that though I've done a little research, my history background is a bit spotty and I'm likely to make mistakes. I also do love Shakespeare…so be ready for some fun playing around with Molly dressed as a man.**

 **The story is set after The Abominable Bride, as though the story from that really did happen. If you haven't seen the episode you might be confused. I do refer to the invisible army as the sisterhood, figuring there wasn't a true name ever given beyond Watson's choice. Hope that makes sense.  
**

 **This also will not be ACD compliant. Molly is not an ACD character, so I'm not using the typical Sherlock canon at all. I know TAB isn't real, but I still wanted to use the ideas from it, so I hope that doesn't prove too confusing.  
**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _"I believe strength of mind to be one of the noblest gifts that any rational creature, male or female, can possess, and the best measure of our degree of efficiency for working in the cause of truth." John Stuart Mill, 1866_

* * *

There were days like these that sent her into a spiral of disbelief as to why she'd ever chosen to try to make this work.

Of course, most of the problem revolved around Sherlock bloody Holmes.

He'd brought her yet another body. He was frequently bringing her bodies, but today of all days she just didn't have the patience for it.

Molly groaned as she felt another cramp wash over her body. She should have skipped work today. She should have found a way around this, but honestly there was nothing to be done. It was merely yet another day of cursing the fact that she'd been born a woman instead of a man.

She knew her father had always wished she'd been a son. To her advantage, his unhappiness had caused him to practically raise her as one. Continuing her schooling himself long after the village school turned her out. Molly remembered back to her aunt's scoffing, wondering what business a girl had learning maths or anatomy.

"This is what becomes of a girl without a mother," her father's sister had lamented. "She'll turn out some horrid strong-minded thing. She'll never meet a respectable man."

But her father had insisted, showing her his work as a doctor, encouraging her to learn more about the world around her. He'd told her that there were men in the world unafraid of intelligent and strong-minded women. And Molly had believed him.

As she stood in the morgue watching Sherlock Holmes make a spectacle of himself, she wondered again how much more her naivety would be crushed.

But so much of young Molly was already gone. The girl who'd sat eagerly beside her father and lapped up knowledge, sucking down texts like a starved person devours the smallest morsels. The one who'd been so sure her father was right when he'd said she could live the life she wanted. That societal standards needn't hold her back.

His death had changed all that. The reality that she was an orphan without anyone to care for her. Her lame attempts to find a career, only to realize that no one wanted a girl for anything more than a maid or a clerk. She'd thought about entering in as a nurse, but the work still seemed beneath her talents. Which was when Molly Hooper had disappeared entirely. And Miles Hooper had appeared.

She didn't even really remember when the idea had come. But at some point, it simply occurred to her that to be a man really was the only solution. To forget her womanhood and take on the role of the stronger sex. Enter in as an apprentice and train up to be a doctor. A little chest binding, a costume, a haircut, some facial hair glued to her upper lip. Hardly anyone looked at her for more than a few seconds. No one noticed.

Well…with the exception of Dr. Watson, who was currently eying her with a level of concern.

"All right, Hooper?" he asked.

She restrained a groan and stood up a little straighter in spite of the pain.

"Fine," she muttered. "Is he nearly finished?"

Holmes was still bending over the body, looking at every detail. Molly still couldn't quite understand _why_. After all, she'd told him what to expect.

"I believe Hooper is experiencing a rather indelicate period," Holmes said from where he was eyeing the corpse. "Are you sure this is poisoning, Hooper? I really had been told it was a heart attack."

"Who is the doctor here?" Molly snapped. "Of course it's poisoning. Anyone can see it. If you really are so doubtful of me then have Dr. Watson examine him for you, but for god's sakes don't stand there and pretend you know more than me because you clearly _don't_."

"Touchy," Holmes muttered, standing a little straighter and withdrawing. "I do trust your judgement. I was merely asking to clarify. Poison, this is good. A proper murder."

Watson was still watching her. She turned and sent a glare his way to show him she was serious. This was nothing she hadn't handled before.

"You…er…take care of yourself, Hooper," Watson said.

Holmes turned his piercing eyes to her. Molly kept her face stony, even as her heart fluttered wildly at the attention. Here she was, acting like a school girl over the great detective. She couldn't allow this of herself. She turned away before she could give something away in her face.

"Good day, Holmes, Watson," she said lowering her voice a tone before stepping back over to the body.

There footsteps echoed in the corridor. She listened until they had gone before covering the corpse with a sheet. There was a moment where she was left to her thoughts, doing her best not to overwhelm her. She took a deep breath.

"He will never want you," she muttered to herself. "Even now that he knows. You're a fool to chase after him."

"What was that?"

She turned around in horror to find Anderson in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" she managed to ask. "Get back to work!"

Anderson frowned but shuffled back into the room. He glanced at the corpse she'd just covered.

"Did Holmes have anything particularly interesting to say?" he asked. "Or was he as ridiculous as normal?"

"He added very little overall," Hooper said calmly. "But I believe he'll have more to say after he's done some investigating." She thought of those piercing blue eyes and had to shake her head to dislodge the image. "Now, get me another corpse to work on. We have enough to do as it is."

She started into her next job, though she couldn't really concentrate. Anderson scuttled around, doing what needed doing, but even with him nearby Molly found her thoughts turning to Holmes. For a time he'd seemed like the type of man her father had suggested might one day want her as a wife. Someone who would admire her for her intelligence and her education. But she'd been wrong, clearly. Even knowing she was a woman, Holmes hadn't seemed the least bit interested. No matter the hints. No matter the moments she'd tried to make a point of it… nothing.

But perhaps it was better this way. So she could continue her career. A man would only take her away from all of that.

There were footsteps. Molly glanced back in time to see Detective Inspector Lestrade motioning several men in with a body.

"What's this?" she said, wiping her hands on a cloth and turning back to assess him and the half covered corpse.

"A murder victim," Lestrade said, reaching up to wipe his brow. "Or so we suspect. We'd like you to have a look at it right away if you can."

"Fine," Molly muttered, pushing aside her current work and motioning to another table. "Lay it there. Who is it precisely?"

"We're unsure," Lestrade said. "Well…beyond suspecting she's…er…a street-walker if you will."

Molly frowned and lifted the sheet, finding herself faced with a redhead, probably around her own age. The woman was indeed in a poor state of dress. She had a fair amount of paint on her face and mussed hair. But it was the gouges in her abdomen, the brutality behind the killing that struck Molly most.

"Where was she found?" Molly asked, tossing the sheet aside. She pushed the clothing off, baring the bloodied flesh to find several more gouges. Slashes, marks. But alongside that she noted bruises and other older wounds. And what looked like bite marks on her neck.

"Pinch Street," Lestrade said. "About an hour ago. She'd been half concealed in a pile of rubbish. Someone finally noticed her."

"She's probably already been dead for a day," Molly said. "It's a pity she wasn't found sooner. But I'll do my best."

She looked up, catching Lestrade's eye.

"Holmes was just in," she said. "But if you'd like to call him in a second time, I think he'd probably be delighted. You must be puzzled by this…you've gone quite pale."

Lestrade let out a shaky laugh. "Yes, well…after a year ago, all of us are a little nervous to have found another…well…woman dead…in Whitechapel of all places."

Molly straightened. She had worked those cases herself. She realized what he must be referring to.

"You think he's striking again? You think it's the same man?"

"Hard to tell," Lestrade said. "But if the Whitechapel murderer is back…God help us all."

Molly frowned and looked down at the woman, pushing back a lock of hair from her face. The poor woman. Had she realized she was going to die?

"I'll do my best," Molly said. "I'll telegram if there's anything I can give to you. Or would you prefer I send everything straight to Holmes?"

Lestrade grimaced. "Send me a telegram first. I'll decide if this is difficult enough to send to Holmes."

Molly frowned. "You didn't consult him last time, and look what happened. Multiple girls dead."

Lestrade just groaned and shook his head. "I'll let you know. Now, if you wouldn't mind actually doing some work on that instead of just sassing me."

Molly lowered her head and focused in on her work. Lestrade muttered something before heading to the door. She felt another wave of discomfort but did her best to ignore it. What she wouldn't give to be home right now. Spending some time petting Toby and resting in her bed.

But she was distracted from her fantasies by the necklace the woman was wearing.

If Lestrade was right, she'd be a common woman of the streets. However, Molly knew enough to recognize the intricate design of an expensive piece. Gold with a few small jewels in the edges. But what Molly knew probably better than any man would, was that this wasn't just a necklace. It was a locket.

Looking for clues she popped it open, staring down inside at a small photograph.

There was a woman portrayed there. Lovely pale skin, dark hair coiffed up in an elegant style. She was looking into the distance, eyes unfocused. And for a moment Molly simply lost herself examining.

"What's that?"

Molly gasped and pulled her hand back, drawing the locket away with it.

"Nothing," she snapped at Anderson as she tucked the locket out of sight. Couldn't the man ever mind his own business?

"Well, if you don't mind then," Andersson said. "I think my wife would be pleased to have me home at a decent hour this evening. Do you need any help or may I be dismissed?"

Molly waved her hand distractedly. "Go. I'll stay and finish up this one."

Anderson nodded and went to hang up his apron.

There was a moment where she could hear his footsteps. And then the world was silent once again. Leaving her alone with the bodies.

She imagined some women might be frightened. Disliking the prospect of being alone in a dark room with corpses. But she had long since abandoned any feelings of fear. There was merely the familiarity of her work. The comfort of knowing she was doing something valuable, and that no one could tell her to stop.

Molly delved into the details she could, examining each cut, poking at each bruise. Her eyes strayed to the bite mark on the neck, shuddering at the mere thought. These things were certainly indelicate. But there were moments she had to push past her sense of decency and continue. After all, what was more decent than finding this woman's killer?

She was just pulling the sheet back up when a noise startled her.

Molly turned to look towards the door, surprised to find it empty. The room was dark, only a few torches left to light the dim corners.

With a biting curse she turned back to lifting the sheet. It was late. She needed to get some rest. Any longer and she'd start hallucinating. Jumping at nothing like a child! She should have long since outgrown these urges.

However, just as she was getting ready to go and abandon her own apron, she noted another noise in the corner.

Turning, this time she found a surprise.

A woman was standing in the shadows. One dressed in black with a veil covering her face. Molly swallowed and straightened, even as her heart began to thump wildly.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

There was a pause. And then the woman reached to lift her veil. Molly took a step back, though she did at least contain a gasp.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

For there, standing before her, was the same woman whose photograph she had discovered within the locket. The woman surveyed her for a moment, before those red lips curved up in a smile.

* * *

 **A/N: Going to leave you there for tonight or I'll never get any rest. Hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you liked it. I might not get very far if I don't have much support. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here we are! I played around with this quite a bit, but I ended up liking this best. Hope you enjoy it! Please review if you do!**

* * *

Molly took a step backwards. She let out a gasp as she hit the table behind her, hands coming out to brace herself as she stared at the phantomlike figure drawing closer.

"Who I am is no one of consequence," the woman said. "Other than the fact that I'm here to identify the female remains that were brought in."

There was a moment where Molly processed the information. She sucked in a deep breath before she went over to pull back the sheet once more.

"I should warn you….it is somewhat…disturbing."

She pulled away the fabric to reveal the corpse. The woman's eyes flicked over the sight, running over face and then down over the body. Molly almost found herself blushing, even though the scrutiny was not aimed at herself.

"It's her," the woman confirmed.

"Her?" Molly asked. "May I have a name please?"

"Katherine Deering."

"And the name of the victim, Miss Deering?"

The woman smiled, eyes focusing back on Molly. "The victim is Miss Deering. And my name is inconsequential."

Molly frowned. "I'm afraid the police won't find it so." She pulled the sheet back up. "I need your name if I'm to inform them that someone identified the body."

She turned, shaking her head. "I'm afraid not. I am already going to be a suspect. I'd prefer not to add anything more than that. For my own safety, you must understand."

Molly stared at her. "You're a woman," she scoffed. "Hardly anyone would think you capable of this."

Blazing gray eyes turned back to stare at her. The woman smiled in spite of her glare.

"I must be cautious. There are people who would love nothing more than to see me come to ruin. I'm afraid it is simply something I cannot help."

There was a pause and then the figure turned back towards the door. Molly stared at her, wondering if she dared to speak up. This was still too odd. Her heart felt as though it were going to stop beating.

"Please," she said. "Just a name. For the police. They must have something."

She watched her visitor's shoulders stiffen. There was a brief moment of silence before the woman spoke again.

"You may tell them that The Woman has identified her. Now…I'd best be off."

She pulled her veil back, and without another word, swept out of the room. Molly considered if she should follow, but she only felt it would lead to more trouble.

Molly sighed and looked around the morgue. Everyone else had long since left. It was time for her to go home too. There had been more than enough trouble for one day. She went to extinguish the candles and torches, though with each corner she passed she watched for dark figures. And from her mind she couldn't remove the thought of the shadowed form, the concealing veil, the complex beautiful mystery that had turned out to be The Woman.

* * *

Her landlady, Mrs. Brownlow, greeted her at the door.

"Oh, Mr. Hooper, I wasn't sure you were coming home this evening."

Molly sighed as she took off her coat. "No. I almost stayed at the morgue. But I could do with a good night's rest for once."

"Would you like me to fetch you some tea dear? You do look so exhausted."

"No, no tea will be necessary thank you," Molly said. "Have a good night, Mrs. Brownlow."

She went up the stairs by herself, leaving the fretting landlady in the hall below. Honestly, any other night she might have been glad of the kind woman's company, but for now she wanted merely her thoughts. And besides, there was someone she could speak with more freely than the aged woman.

She walked past the second floor flat, eyeing it. Perhaps she should knock?

But before she even could the door opened, and Janine poked her head out.

"Late hour, isn't it?"

"You're still awake," Molly pointed out, frowning. "I'm heading to bed."

"Oh," Janine said. "Can I come upstairs and speak with you for a moment?"

Molly listened for a few seconds, waiting for the telltale sound of Mrs. Brownlow's door closing. While she had declined the elder lady's company, she didn't have the heart to do so to Janine.

"Yes," she said. "If you're not worried."

Janine snorted. "Mrs. Brownlow is half deaf. And she's the only one who'd know I'd be in your rooms. Besides me of course. And I'm well aware there's very little you would really do to ruin my virtue, _Miss_ Hooper. Now, go on up to your flat and I'll meet you in a few minutes. I still have some bread and a little cheese we could share between us. It'd make a decent enough supper."

Molly was unable to contain a smile and nodded at that.

She kept going up the stairs to the next floor, opening her door and cooing as Toby rushed to meet her. Molly scooped him up into her arms, sighing as she ran a hand through his soft fur.

"Who needs a husband when I have you to come home to every day," Molly murmured, smiling as she rubbed his head affectionately. He let out a soft purr. "Thank heavens for cats."

She sighed and set him down long enough to get her jacket and waistcoat off. Her chest was aching, so she decided to undo her shirt as well and begin unrolling the bandages. There was a knock on the door and she paused.

"Just a minute, Janine. Let me…let me finish getting more comfortable.

She slid the shirt back on once her bandages were fully undone. She knew it didn't cover as well as would be modest. But with only Janine she wasn't overly worried. A little impropriety was worth not having her chest feel so sensitive.

"Come in."

The door opened and Janine stepped in, giggling as she realized what Molly had been up to.

"Oh, the few disadvantages of being a man," Janine said as she set the bread and cheese on the table.

"Truly," Molly said with a sigh, settling in one of the chairs while Janine took the other.

"So what kept you at the morgue so late tonight?" Janine asked. "Was it Mr. Holmes again?"

Molly frowned. Janine had been well aware of her interest in the detective for the last few years. Ever since she'd divulged her secret to her friendly neighbor, they'd become confidants in all matters they'd never share with anyone else. Not that Janine had much to hide. The clerk had lived a mostly normal life, other than her decision to move into a flat of her own, much to her parent's disgust.

"No," Molly said. "He was in earlier. But he didn't spare me a second glance."

Janine clucked and shook her head. "Blind the man is, I tell you."

"Well, it wasn't as if I had on a proper dress, Janine," Molly muttered, brushing a finger over the glued on mustache. "I simply don't know what to think any more. But as far as I'm concerned Sherlock Holmes is not interested."

"So then what was it?" Janine asked, eyes gleaming. "Exciting murder?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "You've been reading too many detective stories. It really isn't all that exciting. Blood and body parts…any other woman would find it quite vile."

Janine beamed. "But you love it, of course. You always have."

"I have to, it's part of my work," Molly said. "But it still wasn't pleasant. There was a woman and she'd…it was vile. I don't want to describe it any further."

"Oh," Janine said, sinking back a little.

"But…there was the strangest thing," Molly said. "A…a woman came in saying she wished to identify the body. But she refused to give her name."

There was a moment of silence. Molly thought back to earlier. That dark figure in the corner. The veil lifting. Seeing that familiar face in person, those mysterious gray eyes, those curving red lips…

It was then that Molly remembered that she'd put the necklace into her pocket. She pulled it out and opened it up.

"This was her," Molly said. "She…she only told me to call her The Woman. I hadn't a clue what that meant."

Janine froze. "The Woman?"

"Yes…do you know of her?" Molly asked, licking her lips. She slid the locket back into her pocket, attention focused on Janine.

Janine sighed. "Only the little I've heard. I would have thought by now you'd have heard of her. Several women in the sisterhood have mentioned her before. She's…quite infamous from what I know. Sort of a…mastermind criminal. But a woman. She's supposedly outwitted many men before. In fact I'd even heard rumors that she had done so with…with Sherlock Holmes."

Time seemed to slow. A woman who had outwitted Sherlock Holmes? Then again, she herself had certainly disguised herself well enough that he hadn't noticed she was really a woman. Or rather, she feared, she'd simply escaped his notice altogether, in all respects.

"Fascinating," Molly murmured.

"And speaking of the sisters…we're holding another meeting on Thursday. Can you come?" Janine gave her a hopeful look, one that Molly knew all too well.

Molly thought for a moment. The sisterhood had been shaky ever since the detective had discovered them. Some feared that if they continued Holmes would turn them in if they continued. While Molly didn't believe it true, it still did nothing to ease her anxiety about the whole mess. Sisters had been good to have. People to know her as herself, to enjoy her company, to support her in her successes. Women to actually understand her, unlike the men she normally surrounded herself with. But every moment she spent with them was a moment she risked undoing herself. If she was discovered…there was no telling what might happen. But her life would be over. That much Molly knew.

"I'm uncertain at the moment," Molly said. "There's much I need to do. Detective Inspector Lestrade has been quite anxious as of late. And I am likely to have my hands full with all he's given me."

Janine sighed. "Pity. It's always better when you're there. You have such brilliant ideas."

"I like being there," she said. "But I mustn't give up what I have."

She looked around to find Toby perched at the window. Though this might not be everything she'd dreamed of as a girl, it was what she loved. And she didn't want to give that up just yet. Perhaps one day…for the right man or the right circumstances.

"I suppose you're right," Janine said with a sigh.

Molly nodded. Her hand moved to find the small locket within her trouser pockets. Besides, there were more than enough mysteries to keep her busy for the moment.

* * *

Irene had left in such a hurry she hadn't even stopped to think for a moment that she might be missing something. But as she hastened down the darkened street, it dawned on her that there was one key element she'd forgotten.

The locket.

The image of it appeared in her mind in a split second. A gasp escaped her before she recovered, realizing with a moment of astonishment that it still meant nothing…well beyond the fact that it gave Sherlock Holmes a very obvious clue about where to start looking.

She visualized the golden necklace she'd given Kate a year before. A memento to symbolize their relationship. She recalled how her lover had smiled and taken the token, pulling it around her slender and pale neck. Irene had been enchanted by the sight of it there. Her claim.

She would give anything to reverse the fate that had befallen her lovely Kate. The anguish she'd felt when she heard the news…she'd never felt pain like this before.

Something seemed to catch in her throat, and Irene was forced to swallow it down. She was not some weak-willed child. She would not cry. Not even for lovely Kate.

Irene's mind wandered back to the matter at hand. She did know that retrieving the locket might already be pointless. But there was still the matter of the mystery of who had decided to send her a message. For surely, that was what Kate's death had to be. And if it was, Irene was most interested in finding who the messenger was. And if possible, ending him or her before it went any further.

There had to be a solution to the whole mess. A means of finding out without running into Sherlock Holmes.

There was, of course, an obvious answer.

Irene thought back to the mousy little man in the morgue. Small statured with a high pitched voice. If not for the small bit of facial hair, she might have thought him a boy. But in spite of his size and apparent youth, he had…spirit. Something in his eyes, fire there that made Irene intensely curious.

"Perhaps you'll play quite nicely, little mousey," Irene whispered.

It really was all too simple. Men were idiots when it came to pleasures of the flesh, and Irene knew just how to use that to her advantage. Besides, with her loss of lover she'd be looking for a few distractions. Her smile grew. The man in the morgue would likely be a challenge, and to be honest, she loved nothing less. After all, the strongest were always the most entertaining to break.

She sighed and set off towards home. But she knew in the morning a new mission awaited her. It was only a matter of finding the man and seducing the information she needed out. And once that was done, she'd be on her way with a new plan intact.

* * *

 **A/N: Wrote another story using Irene's perspective and I loved it. But I would love honest feedback if you like switching between the two. If not I can go back to exclusively Molly!**

 **And yes, I'm maintaining Irene's dominatrix like tendencies in spite of Victorian prudishness. I characterize her as not giving a damn no matter the century, and being clever enough to evade any possible problems it might bring to her. But as I said, this won't be entirely historically accurate (of course).**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm normally not so fast at updating, but I am just enjoying myself writing this so much! Here you are readers.**

* * *

"Mr. Hooper."

She opened her eyes, frowning as she blinked a few times.

"Mr. Hooper," came the voice again. Louder this time. There was banging to accompany it. Molly looked up and frowned towards the door as she realized it was coming from outside the flat.

"There's a visitor for you here, Mr. Hooper," Mrs. Brownlow yelled.

Molly sighed and stumbled out of bed. Of all the times, did it have to be the morning? She made her way over to the vanity, staring at herself in the mirror, especially at her horribly crooked mustache. She knew she should have removed the thing before sleeping, but with her late night she hadn't bothered. Her fingers did their best to move the silly facial hair back into place, but she knew it would take some actual work to make it look truly presentable.

"I'm in a state of undress, Mrs. Brownlow. I'll be with you in a moment."

She fumbled for her chest binding, but she was aware in a matter of minutes that she wasn't going to have enough time to do it properly. Could she risk going to the door in her normal clothing? She certainly didn't have much to boast of up top, but that didn't mean her visitor might not spot it.

"Erm…who is it exactly, Mrs. Brownlow?" Molly asked as she reached for her shirt.

"A young woman," Mrs. Brownlow answered. "She's quite insistent she speak with you. I informed her you're usually not up so early, but she refuses to leave."

"Oh do shut up," came a distinctly feminine voice.

Molly froze. She knew that voice. That sultry lilting voice. Dear god, how could she be here of all places? How…how was that possible?

Before Molly could possibly speak, she heard The Woman a second time.

"You've served your purpose. Now, go away and leave me to my business with Mr. Hooper."

There was a noise of the door of her flat opening. Molly gasped. Mrs. Brownlow was yelling now, something about impropriety. But Molly's attention was focused fast on finding a way to escape possible notice.

Her eyes fell to her dressing gown. It was quite large and it had a thick and warm material. It truly was the only option at the moment.

Without a second thought she rushed to grab it, flinging it on and tying the knot just as the door swung open.

The Woman stood in the doorway, dressed in a dark blue dress this time that made her eyes seem even more vibrant than before. She advanced with that same smirk, though Molly thought she noted an extra gleam in the eye.

"What are you doing here?" Molly gasped, pulling back as she soon found her visitor within a meter of her person. She pulled the dressing robe a little tighter, praying that her breasts weren't showing.

"I came to ask a favor," The Woman said.

"I can speak with you when I'm finished dressing," Molly said, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "But I can assure you that this is entirely inappropriate…how…how did you even find me?"

The Woman smirked. "Let's just say that man…Anderson…well he certainly does a good amount of talking with the proper motivations. He informed me of your name and address."

Molly was feeling tempted to strangle him later. Drown him. Poison him. Stab him. Working with murdered corpses all day led to some creativity in terms of thoughts on murdering someone. But nonetheless, she knew they'd be having words.

"I still must insist you wait," Molly said.

"Hooper," The Woman said, not bothering to heed Molly's words. "He said that was your surname. But he's unaware of your first. I'd like to know it…"

Molly frowned. "There's no purpose in knowing that. What in heaven's name could you possibly want with it?"

The Woman stepped a little closer, hips swaying some as she did. Molly felt her eyes widen. She stepped back, legs colliding with the bed so that she fell onto it. She pushed herself up onto her elbows to keep her eyes on her visitor, suddenly feeling all too exposed. She sat up to try to make sure the gown wasn't showing anything she didn't want seen.

"You see…I need help learning more about the murdered woman," The Woman purred. "And I was hoping to have your help…and if you were to perhaps give me some access to information I might…make it worth your while."

There was a hand on Molly's thigh before she could stop it. A gasp escaped her before she managed to grab that delicate hand and pull it away from her person. Never in her life had someone touched her like that. But a _woman_ of all people…it just felt a violation.

"I…I won't," Molly said. "I'm not interested."

The Woman chuckled and reached out to stroke along Molly's face.

"You lovely man. Surely you have some interest in me? I see from your flat that you live alone. I'm offering a night. A day. A few if you'd rather. I could make you feel so good."

Molly shuddered, especially as her companion pressed closer to her. She felt suddenly quite dizzy from the proximity. Her mind was reeling.

"Give me your name," The Woman said, breath ghosting over Molly's lips. 'So that I may say it when I have you."

 _Oh dear sweet lord_ , Molly thought, swallowing. This had gone too far already.

"Give me yours first," she challenged.

The Woman's eyebrows furrowed, eyes glinting. "Does that mean you accept my request?"

"No," Molly said curtly. "But I want to know your name. Since you keep…harassing me."

"I may continue to do so if you do not consent to helping me. I need information. I believe only you can give me that. Now, what will it be?"

Her hand was on Molly's leg again, her other moving to Molly's face. That beautiful curvy body had begun to press towards hers. And she knew in a matter of seconds that somewhere she would be discovered. The body might find her chest, or the hand her lack of…parts, or the lips might disturb her mustache with a kiss. Molly had a second to decide, and she realized what it had to be. In order to avoid discovery, she had to help this woman.

"Fine!" Molly snapped. "Fine, I'll help you if you discontinue vexing me."

The Woman pulled back enough to examine her. "Lovely. Now shall I begin?"

"No!" Molly said. "I mean…I…no. I'm not interested. Please withdraw your person from mine. I will…I will do as you ask. But I don't want any _compensation_."

The Woman had withdrawn a little more, though she was scanning Molly dubiously. "Are you certain? Surely you have some desires I could meet."

"No," Molly said, doing her best to keep her voice as deep and as steady as possible. "I am without a doubt… certainly… completely not interested, so if you'd please just step away from me that would be best."

The Woman took another step back.

Molly let out a sigh of relief. "Now, might I have a moment to dress myself before we continue conducting our business?"

There was a curving red smile, and then a nod.

"I'll leave you to it. But first, I would like your name. If only to satisfy my own curiosity," The Woman said.

"I'll give you mine if you give me yours," Molly said, clutching the robe a little tighter. "I swear, I have no reason to tell Sherlock or the police. I am interested in the same thing you are…to bring justice to a dead woman."

The Woman frowned. But after a moment she straightened a little.

"The name is Irene Adler. And now if you'd be so kind to give me yours, Mr. Hooper."

 _Irene Adler_. It was everything this woman was. Refined and strong. Elegant and powerful. Molly found herself shivering a little.

"Miles," she said after a moment. "Miles Hooper."

"Miles," Irene said, testing it.

Molly again found herself shuddering. She'd rarely heard her first name spoken. She had few acquaintances she knew well enough to use it, and most who did know her well enough were aware her real name was Molly.

"It's a pleasure, Mr. Hooper," Irene Adler said as she turned towards the door. "Dress yourself and I'll be in your sitting room. Perhaps I can get that curmudgeonly landlady of yours to make us some tea."

Molly was still, waiting till she was certain the door was closed to finally breathe a sigh of relief. She heard shouting again and assumed it was Mrs. Brownlow giving Adler a good piece of her mind. Well, at least someone would try to defend her.

She sank back onto the bed and thought about how exactly she was going to handle this. Working for a criminal…as though her life couldn't become any more bizarre.

* * *

Irene managed to somehow rope the older woman into making tea. She could tell that she was only a few missteps away from being murdered, but at the moment she'd managed to placate it by remarking what a lovely establishment the woman was running and how clean and well decorated the flats seemed to be.

She'd frowned at that, though Irene could see just a glimmer of pride at the mention. "Oh I keep a tight ship, I tell you! And that's why I don't want any people of ill repute coming around here. Now you had better leave before I call the police!"

Irene had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sure that won't be necessary," she said. "After all, if the police know, word might get out. It would be a pity to have people start assuming awful things about yourself and Mr. Hooper…he seems such a lovely man."

She had planned right then, when she saw the woman's face fall. Maternal instincts at work. The landlady clearly had some concern for her tenant and didn't want anything to happen to him.

"Now, why don't you make us some tea," Irene suggested with her best smile. "I'm sure that would allow all of us to relax a little. I'll even come help you."

There was a deadly glare aimed at her, but she pretended not to see. She walked down to the main level, even though her mind kept wandering back up to the bedroom she'd just left.

She could picture Miles Hooper laying in his dressing gown on the bed, eyes wide, tensing when she ran a hand along his thigh. The poor thing had seemed half-terrified of her.

And yet, he had still managed to refuse her? That was perhaps what puzzled Irene most. She was not used to being rejected. Just earlier that day she had convinced the man in the morgue to give her Hooper's information. It was so rare to have someone turn her down.

The fire in his deep brown eyes. She had seen it so strongly this time. More so than in the morgue even. There was strength in him that she couldn't help but admire. But it would take more time to tell if he really was a worthy helper. Still, it was a risk she was willing to take.

"How long has Mr. Hooper rented from you?" Irene asked as the landlady began making the tea.

"Oh a decade at least," she said. "He came here as a colt, fresh from the country, ready to apply himself to studying medicine."

"So you've known him a while," Irene said. "Has he always been a bachelor?"

She earned another glare for that.

"He is quite popular among the ladies actually," the landlady said with a sniff. "Proper ones of course. I have seen him with quite a number peeking out my window. And he is quite close with Miss Hawkins who rents my other flat. I have been surprised he hasn't proposed marriage yet. They do make such a lovely couple. But alas, he seems quite preoccupied by his work."

Irene found that odd. Plenty of women in his life yet no desire for marriage? Especially with one whom he seemed to be close?

"Miss Hawkins…is she…unattractive?" she asked. There had to be an answer and she would find it.

"Quite the contrary. Very lovely in appearances, fair with dark hair. Dresses nicely. I suppose some men might be put off by the fact that she works. But otherwise I see no reason for her to be snubbed."

Then it was something else. Irene smiled as she began to formulate a theory.

"Does he have any friends who are men?"

"Sherlock Holmes is often around," the landlady said with a wave of her hand. "And that Dr. Watson too on occasion. Other than them I cannot say I've seen him with many others."

Friends with Sherlock? Well to Irene that did have some meaning. So, perhaps there was a reason her advances had been unwelcome. Such a pity to have such a handsome little thing turn out to be disinclined to the fairer sex.

"He seems a charming man," Irene said. "I'm sure you're glad to have him as a tenant."

"Oh yes," the landlady said beaming. "He's a dear heart. Puts up with my prattling and goes and fetches things from the stores when I need them. I would be so disappointed were he to leave me. But I do hope…" she glanced at Irene with a touch of curiosity, "I do hope he hasn't fallen into some bad company."

"No," Irene said with a smirk. "I require his help and then I'll leave him be."

"I should hope so," the woman sniffed. "Now, take that tea upstairs if you will. I'm sure Mr. Hooper will be wanting it since you've disturbed his sleep."

Irene took the tea and thanked the woman. She received a huff in response before she disappeared up the stairs again.

A girl poked her head out on the landing, stared at her for a moment and then ducked back inside again. She frowned, knowing this had to be Miss Hawkins that the landlady had mentioned earlier. Well, the woman was correct in one regard, she was a pretty thing.

Which only solidified the idea in her mind that Mr. Hooper had to indeed be uninterested in women. To turn down herself was one thing. Men could on occasion be prudes. But to turn down a pretty young thing that was ready for marriage…now that was something else entirely. She would certainly have to test the theory of course. See if she could get his resolution to crack.

She entered the sitting room at the top level and set the tea on the table. She looked towards the bedroom door but it was still closed. Well, time to wait until Mr. Hooper was ready.

* * *

Molly had to spend a few seconds just taking deep breaths before she could put her clothing back on. She did eventually manage to get up and begin dressing, but she found herself so incredibly nervous that it took her longer than normal.

After finally checking herself in the mirror one last time, she opened the door.

Irene Adler had already made herself comfortable in one of the chairs. She smiled as Molly approached.

"This is highly improper," Molly said with a sigh. "I do hope you realize. In the future you must…be more discreet."

Irene let out a laugh. "Well there is only so much one can do. Your landlady is far too fond of you to say anything. And who else besides us knows I'm here? Really, we could do anything you liked."

"I just want to talk," Molly said through gritted teeth as she took her seat.

"Fine," Irene said, though her smile had dropped. "I did manage to secure tea if you'd like," she said, motioning to the pot and cups on the table.

"Thank you," Molly said, reaching for a cup only to have Irene snatch it away and pour it out for her.

"Cream or sugar?"

"Both if you please," Moly said.

Irene nodded and poured the cream with a graceful movement before adding a spoon of sugar. Molly wondered again at the strange picture that was this woman. She wore paint on her face as a harlot might, but she had obvious skill in terms of serving tea…as though she'd been raised in a fine household. Molly was unsure what to make of the mix.

She took the cup and sipped at it, cautious as always of the small bit of hair on her upper lip. It honestly caused her so much trouble sometimes.

"Your landlady tells me you're a bachelor, as I suspected," Irene Adler said, eyes glinting as she poured her own cup. "And that you're friends with Sherlock Holmes."

"Yes," Molly said. "Sort of. He doesn't truly take friends you know. Other than Dr. Watson of course. For the most part I'm merely a help with his cases."

Irene smiled again. "Well, if that's all…I did somewhat think that was…well an understandable reason why you might be against _compensation_. If I'm wrong, however…well I'll leave it be."

Molly frowned. What on earth was she referring to with such a tone? Her friendship with Sherlock being the reason she didn't want to… hold on, did Irene suspect she was…female? She swallowed and set her teacup down, doing everything in her power to keep her hands from shaking.

"I merely…I have better things to do," she managed to say.

Irene raised a brow.

"I want to get on with this," Molly said. "I do not need compensation…other than for you to leave me alone."

Irene stared at her a moment before nodding. "We have an understanding. I'm wondering if you and I are more alike than you would think…"

"I highly doubt that," Molly said. "But regardless, there is the matter at hand."

"Ah yes," Irene said, taking her own cup and settling back in her seat. "I would like you to inform me of everything you find out about the case. It has a personal significance to me."

"Why?" Molly asked.

When Irene remained silent, she sighed.

"Look," Molly said, "if you don't tell me I can't help you. I need to know why."

"There are people out there who dislike me," Irene said. "Those who would even want to kill me. Kate's death was a sign meant for me. It is a message. And I need to keep ahead of whomever is behind this. If I cannot, I might find myself in a similar position. Do you understand?"

Molly nodded. "Are you…in any way connected to the Whitechapel murders?"

Irene's eyes widened. Molly watched one of the hands on the teacup tighten so much that the knuckles turned white.

"No," Irene said. "Not directly. But I knew who was behind it. I also know he's dead now."

"So it's someone else doing this killing. But they…do you think they knew…that you knew the killer?"

Irene sighed. "Perhaps? It's hard to keep track of these things. Honestly, I usually am the one who keeps other people's secrets, not the other way around. But it is hard to say how far this goes. Will you work to solve it for me?"

"I'm not a detective," Molly said.

"More's the pity," Irene said, smiling again, eyes fixed on Molly's face.

Molly found herself turning red. Perhaps she had misread? This woman couldn't possibly know she was…did she?

"I will do my best," Molly said. "That's all I can promise."

Irene sighed, but she nodded before rising from her chair. "Then that's all that needs to be said. I will drop by to visit the morgue in a few days. Preferably once others have left. But your co-worker already informed me you tend to be the last to leave. Is that amenable to you?"

"It's fine," Molly said.

Irene stepped closer. Molly found herself standing, worried she might need to run. Why was this woman so determined to make things difficult for her?

But Irene stopped just a short distance away, eyes running up over Molly's form, smiling as she did.

"If you ever do change your mind…let me know," Irene purred.

She leaned in and Molly froze.

And then there was a soft brush against her cheek, and Molly found Irene pulling away to gaze into her eyes. It was as though she'd become incapable of movement. Molly just gazed at the woman before her. She stared at those eyes, that face, the sharp features and curving smile.

"Until next we meet, Mr. Hooper."

Irene Adler turned towards the door. Molly found her gaze drawn to the swing of the woman's hips, the tight posture of her back. She had to force her eyes back to the tea on the table.

Molly hardly noticed when the door closed, leaving her alone again. She reached her fingers up to touch the spot, pulling them away to find a smudge of familiar vermilion paint.

* * *

 **A/N: All right, there's another chapter! If you enjoy it be sure to let me know!**


	4. Chapter 4

Janine ambushed her before she could leave.

"Who was that? Was it really her?" Janine demanded.

Molly sighed and paused in her path down the stairs. Honestly, she did need to be to work before too long. She'd wasted enough time already.

"Yes," she said. "It was her."

"And what did she want?" Janine asked, eyes wide. "Did she…threaten you or something? I heard shouting…did she….find out what you are?"

"No," Molly said curtly. "I'm simply…I need to help her."

"Why?" Janine asked.

"I don't have time for this," Molly said. "I'll speak with you more this evening. But for the moment, I must go into the morgue. I'm running late enough as it is."

Janine frowned, but did manage a nod. She still had a look of concern in her eye. Before Molly could turn away she grabbed her hand.

"Please promise me," Janine said. "Promise me that you won't do anything foolish."

"I'm many things," Molly said, "but I don't believe stupid is one of them. Now, I'll speak with you later. Take care of yourself, Janine."

She earned a smile at that, but her thoughts were preoccupied as she turned away. _Don't do anything foolish_. No, she wouldn't. This was merely to protect herself, and to help someone in need. But she wouldn't become overly involved. No. No good ever came of that.

* * *

She was already frustrated by the time she reached her destination. She flung open the door and practically bolted down the steps. All she needed now was to throw herself into the work. And then everything would be all right. She could get by if she was back amongst bodies and blood. Normalcy restored.

But right as she rounded the corner she ran smack into Anderson.

"Hooper!" he cried as he saw her. "There you are. We'd been wondering if you were ever going to come in. Rough night was it?" He gave a little leer at that.

"Rough only due to a strange woman turning up at my door this morning," Molly snapped, hands clenching into fists.

She pushed closer, crowding into Anderson's face even though he was a good head taller than she was. She knew there was more to intimidation than size.

"And let me tell you, _Anderson_ ," Molly growled. "If you _ever_ tell _anyone_ where I live again, it will be _your_ body that ends up on my examination table next."

He stared at her momentarily, mouth agape.

"Am I clear?"

Anderson nodded quickly, eyes still fixed on hers. "I…I apologize, sir. I hadn't…I didn't think…"

"No, you didn't think," Molly snapped. "At least not with your brain."

He nodded frantically. "I…I did mean to tell you that…Sherlock Holmes is here again."

Molly froze. Damn it. Holmes already seeing the body? That was beyond bad. She glared at Anderson again, noting how pleased he appeared when he'd realized she was panicking. With a growl she launched into action.

She grabbed him by his collar and pulled him closer to her level, pushing her face as close to his as she dared. His eyes had grown as wide as dinner saucers, his hands scrambling for purchase even as she continued to hold him. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he realized how upset she was.

"I'm quite serious, Anderson. And if you think I'm not, try me. You've seen me cut open enough bodies to know I could kill you. Slowly too. Cut your jugular and watch you bleed out. So if you value your life…Do. Not. Vex. Me."

She gave him a rough shove that pushed him back against the wall before storming past him.

"Now, back to work!" she called after herself, making sure she'd rounded the next corner before she allowed herself the tiniest of smiles.

As she'd suspected, Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson were both hovering around the body. Anderson had evidently uncovered it for them, and she could see both of them searching it for clues. She drew a deep breath in and fixed her posture before striding forwards.

"I see you've already started taking a look," she said, doing her best to keep her face nonchalant, even as she felt her heartbeat quicken a little.

Dr. Watson straightened up to look at her. He smiled.

"Ah, yes. We didn't expect to be back so soon. But Holmes did end up figuring out the poisoning yesterday. And Lestrade sounded quite worried about this particular case. Though I still haven't gathered why."

Holmes sighed with annoyance and straightened up. "Lestrade is under the false impression that this murder is somehow connected to the Whitechapel ones. Even though this woman exhibits obvious signs that she is in fact a normal member of society rather than a prostitute."

"Are you sure?" Watson asked, eyeing the marks on her body.

"Perfectly," Sherlock said. "One only has to look at her hands to see how well kept she is. Her paleness. Her well groomed hair. She might work as a clerk based on the state of her shoes…lots of standing. But she is by no means a woman who is on the streets as the other murdered women have been. Even the ripped clothing is nice quality. No, I'd wager she's anything but that."

"But she's…"

"Likely had a lover recently," Holmes said. "Oh don't look so alarmed, Watson. She has! These are old bruises. Some faded. Some in various stages of healing. But they are all quite consistent. Just because you and your wife do things plain and simple doesn't mean others don't have other ideas about what to do in the bedroom."

Watson's face couldn't possibly be any redder. Though Molly was already aware that based on the burning in her own she was probably flushing too.

"Either way, I don't believe this is in any way related. No…this is something new." He smiled as he said it, and Molly had a hard time keeping herself from commenting on it. It was no wonder some people thought he was peculiar.

"What else can you tell me?" Molly asked.

Holmes turned to face her fully.

"Why are you so interested?" he asked. "To be honest, I thought you'd be the one telling me things, Hooper. Or wasn't that what you were so busy saying yesterday?"

Molly flushed again. "I just…surely you have a theory?"

Holmes sighed and tilted his head from side to side. "I have a few. But none worth stating without checking facts. Has there been any information on her identity yet?"

There was her chance. Molly knew that if she wanted to rid herself of Irene Adler and be out of this mess all she had to do was state the facts that she knew.

It was the thought of Irene that kept her from doing so. She thought of what the woman had said, about how people would likely assume she'd been behind it. No, she couldn't destroy another woman's life that way. She knew how cruel the world could be to her own sex.

"No," Molly said. "I don't think Lestrade has been looking all that hard, though."

Holmes frowned. "Hmm…well I'll look into that I suppose. But it's only a matter of time. A girl of her status, she'll be missed."

"True," Molly said, though she attempted to keep her face nonchalant on the matter. "Nothing else?"

Sherlock frowned. "No. Though her ring does have an odd symbol on it. I'd have to do some digging to find it."

"No," Dr. Watson said firmly. "No more mind palace, Holmes. I won't allow it."

Molly's gaze flicked between the two, curious about the anger she saw on Watson's face.

"Fine," Holmes said with a sigh. "Your way then."

He looked up suddenly, eyes meeting Molly's.

"You look much improved, Dr. Hooper," he said.

"I'm feeling better," Molly agreed. "Though I am disappointed to find I cannot help you more."

Holmes's eyes narrowed and he stepped closer, eyeing her. Molly swallowed, wondering suddenly if she'd somehow been obvious in her lies. But surely not? He'd failed to see she was a woman for years.

"Yes," Holmes said. "You are much better. Though I can see you've had a rough morning. There's a tea stain on your sleeve, odd spot too. Shaking hands? And I noted you misbuttoned your waistcoat, probably dressing in a hurry. But what is the shade of vermillion smeared on your collar, and the slight hint of perfume about your person. Something… something has put you ill at ease, Hooper. So what is it? Anderson mentioned you were running late…and based on the same smell of perfume on him…."

"What can you be suggesting, Holmes?" Watson asked, eyes wide. "Have you forgotten what we know about Hooper?"

Molly was incredibly glad that Anderson was still elsewhere. Probably loitering in the hall. She'd have to go hunt him down later. But for now she was glad of the privacy.

"I agree, what are you insinuating," she snapped. "I had some trouble this morning. The sisterhood called me in. One of our members does wear a little vermillion and she hugs a little too tight."

"And yet the universe is rarely so lazy as to present me with the same two scents of perfume on two people who were not together this morning," Holmes said, eyes gleaming. "Unless you're suggesting he's in the sisterhood too."

Molly's jaw clenched. "No. But that's none of your business. Since when do you care about my private life?"

Watson had grabbed Holmes's arm.

"Leave Hooper be," he said. "You're in one of your moods today, aren't you? Needing to provoke everyone. Now, can you actually get on the case instead of troubling this good man?"

Molly flushed at that, though she was glad to have the cover in case anyone should be listening.

"Fine," Holmes said, turning away. "But Hooper, be warned that I know you're hiding something. And I will find out what."

She stared at him, wondering for a moment if he might guess it. But instead, he marched over to Watson.

"Let's be off. We have work to do."

Molly took a deep breath, swallowing down her nervousness. Holmes was bound to figure it out eventually.

She waited until their footsteps had faded to eye the marked ring Holmes had noted. It was true, the symbol was strange, though she thought she found it familiar all the same. Pity Holmes hadn't known it, or she might already have something to report to Irene. Then again, Irene had appeared to know the girl. Perhaps she could give some insight.

With a sigh she turned back to another corpse. She'd have to work on that later. For the moment, there was merely a matter of doing as much as she could.

* * *

She felt her eyes slipping closed against her will.

Molly shook herself, wondering if perhaps it was time she headed home. Mrs. Brownlow would probably fret. Janine too based on the way the other woman had interrogated her this morning. But she was determined to find answers. So after all others had left she'd delved back into the Deering body, doing her best to examine every inch for a clue.

The ring kept her focus. But even that was too mysterious at the moment. The small shape, looking somewhat like an ellipses but with pointed ends, with a small triangle within. There was little she could make of it though. With a sigh she withdrew. Perhaps it was time to give up.

Just as she was about to put her jacket back on and head to the door, there were footsteps. Molly swallowed and looked up. Irene? Could it be? She'd hardly had a chance to do any work yet though. Without a doubt, the woman would be upset if she was already expecting answers.

However, to Molly's relief it was not Irene who walked through the door but Lestrade.

"Hooper," he said, eyes widening. "Little late isn't it?"

"Not really," Molly sighed, pursing her lips as she noted another figure beneath a sheet being brought in behind him. "I was just heading out."

"If you can…I'd like to stay," Lestrade said. "It's…another one."

"I can see it's another body," Molly said, raising a brow. "What has that to do with me staying?"

"It's another," Lestrade sighed and seemed to give up on speaking. He motioned his men to set the body down before pulling back the sheet.

Molly stepped forward, already figuring out within a matter of seconds what he was referring to.

It was another woman.

Younger. Dressed in plain clothes. Face tranquil and still as though she were asleep instead of dead. But it was her wounds that caused Molly the most distress. The same brutal deep stab wounds, though fewer than on the other body.

"You think this means…" Molly broke off, unable to finish the sentence.

"I fear he's back," Lestrade said, face grim. "I don't…Sherlock is on it this time. It'll be solved."

"We have to hope that much," Molly agreed.

"Will you work on it?" Lestrade asked, glancing fretfully towards the corpse. "I…I fear the worst, Hooper. I really do."

Molly glanced at the girl. "I understand. And in all likelihood, the reality that these women are of different social groups has to be important."

Lestrade's brow crinkled. "Why?"

"Because," Molly said in an even voice. "It means he's not just killing prostitutes this time." She took a deep breath. "He's killing women."

* * *

 **A/N: All right, leaving you there but already have a start on the next chapter.**

 **Thanks to all those who have reviewed/followed! Please leave a review if you're enjoying this!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Bit of a longer chapter so I hope you enjoy it! Have a wonderful Valentine's Day and please review if you liked it. I could use a little cheer myself. Thanks!**

* * *

She'd laid low for a few days. Kept to herself and done her best to disappear. If she did have enemies, Irene was hoping they'd be fooled by some of her tactics. But unfortunately, she knew it could only go on so long. She needed help. Hooper had to find answers, or she would find herself truly cornered.

It was late, but Irene had already had the suspicion Hooper spent late nights in the morgue. After all, a bachelor like himself had little reason to spend time alone in his flat. And from everything she could see he didn't appear to be a drinking man…or one who took company with paid women. So he had to have time to spend working instead.

Her hunch paid off. Late that night she wandered the lonely corridors to the morgue, finding her way inside and smiling at the sight of him hunched over yet another body.

"Any information?"

He jumped and spun around, eyes flashing when he saw her.

"None," he said. "Unfortunately. Beyond the fact that we've had a second body in. Perhaps you'd like to try to identify her for me."

Irene froze. A second? How was that possible?

"Show me," she demanded, glancing towards the sheet covered form.

Hooper sighed and pulled the covering back. Irene glanced over the body. She had to agree, there were similarities in the killings. But the girl…a nobody. A simple serving girl from the looks of things.

"I don't know her," Irene agreed. "Perhaps there was a mistake. Another killing that was similar to Kate's. But this is not anyone whom I know. Why the killers would choose to do away with her makes no sense. It accomplishes nothing in their agenda to work against me."

"Then perhaps they aren't working against you," Hooper said, mouth thinning. "You're going into this assuming you're the target, but perhaps you're not. Maybe Kate's death was an unfortunate coincidence. If you'd come forward and speak with the police and Mr. Holmes, this might be cleared up sooner."

Irene tensed at the very idea.

"I couldn't possibly," she said coolly. "While this might not be aimed at me, the police are unlikely to take my side."

"Mr. Holmes would see your side told correctly," Hooper argued.

 _Oh most definitely under Sherlock's thumb_ , she thought to herself.

"You care a great deal for him," Irene said. "But Sherlock and I…our history is complicated. We are two dangerous chemicals together and our reactions…volatile. No, I don't trust him and I won't have my case in his hands. It was why I placed it in yours. Are you saying you are incapable?"

Hooper's face fell. "I am doing my best. But I have so little to go on. Perhaps if you were to tell me more about your enemies. Then I might have a hint as to why someone might do this."

"If you were smart enough you could figure it out without knowing any of that," Irene said. "And besides, I have no idea exactly who this is. I have plenty of enemies."

"Due to what?" Hooper asked.

Irene turned to look at the man, wondering how graphic she should be.

"I…have made some choices others do not approve of," Irene said.

"Such as?" Hooper asked, still eyeing her.

The man had obvious confidence, that much she could tell. But it did not mean he was the type to take the things she had done lightly. He had a traditional streak in him from the little she could read in him.

"It is none of your concern," Irene said with a sniff.

"Still," Hooper argued. "If this girl isn't connected to you, it's very likely the murders are unrelated. Please, just come forward to the police and we can put this behind us."

Irene stared for a moment. "Perhaps I was wrong to put my trust in you. I cannot go to the authorities. If you must abandon my case due to your…morals or whatever else is holding you back, feel free. I will continue on my own to find out what happened to my…my friend."

She turned to go. Perhaps she'd misjudged. Then again, none of her usual methods had worked with Hooper at all. The man was an utter puzzle. One part of her wanted to crack. And yet at the same time, she knew the risks. It would be foolish to linger.

"Wait."

She turned to look at him again, admiring the way his brow wrinkled in concentration.

"Please, don't go," Hooper said in a low voice. "I'll help you. I just…I'll need time. And more help from you. I still don't believe this is aimed at you. But I can understand why you'd want to find out what happened to your friend. If something happened to Janine—"

He broke off, paling suddenly.

Irene was already running his statement through her mind. She did want him to help. If he could. So far he'd been mostly useless, but her own efforts had been fruitless as well. And she was so intrigued by him. He'd proved such an entertaining little morsel if nothing else.

"Fine," Irene said. "You may help. But you will not expect my cooperation with any form of law enforcement including Mr. Holmes. If I find out that you have passed information to either…well you've just informed me how much dear _Janine_ means to you. I do hope I make myself clear."

Hooper nodded, though he swallowed too.

"Now, would you mind looking over the body again with me here. Perhaps I could point out something you've missed."

"Fine," Hooper said. "Probably for the best anyways. They'll bury her in a day or two if she's not identified. She's already beginning to reek."

Irene had to stop herself from making any kind of noise or giving a reaction. Kate's death was…unfortunate. But Hooper could not be allowed to know what it meant to her.

"Holmes was in a bit ago," Hooper said. "He noted the symbol on her ring. I had meant to ask you about that?"

Irene sighed. So, here began where she needed to figure out how many boundaries to draw with Hooper. He likely wouldn't appreciate knowing the true purpose behind the ring anyways. However, he had been quite persistent about wanting information, and she feared evading the question might cause him to distrust her more.

"It's a symbol of the feminine," she said, mostly because it was true. She did not add, however, that it was in many ways a private joke between the two of them. After all, the area between the two rings that one joined to symbolize marriage, did indeed have some resemblance to something distinctly _feminine_. Kate's eyes had been sparkling when she'd been given that gift.

"Oh," Hooper said, face falling.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to give you much in terms of clues. I can tell you where she worked and suggest a possible routine, but other than that…I might be useless to you," Irene said.

Hooper sighed. "It's fine. I cannot expect you to give me answers you do not have. If you don't mind…I'm going to have just one more look at the maid's body. I'm determined there must be a hint."

"I do like the sound of that plan," Irene said. She moved over to grab a stool sitting near by, pulling it closer and sitting down. Hooper stared at her for a long moment.

"What?"

"It's…it will be quite bloody," Hooper said. "I would hate for you to see something unpleasant."

Irene rolled her eyes. "I'm not some weak thing I do hope you realize. I don't think I've ever fainted in my life. So don't coddle me. I'll survive this. I've probably seen worse in all likelihoods."

Hooper frowned. "It isn't because you're a woman," she said. "Well…it is…but only because I know society has kept women from seeing these things…not because I don't think you could handle it. But I apologize all the same."

Before Irene could reply, Hooper had pulled the sheet aside and went back to work. Irene watched on, curious as she examined the way the man moved in practiced steps around the body. It was a fascinating thing to see. Hooper fully in his element. He seemed to relax some looking down at the corpse, hands moving with ease down the length of the torso, pausing every so often. Irene found herself too fascinated. She had to know more about him.

"Your landlady says you're from the country," Irene commented, hoping she'd kept the tone casual enough that it could be mistaken for easy conversation rather than actual attempts to gain answers.

"Everything's the country to a Londoner," Hooper said with a sigh. "I grew up in Huntingdon, north of here. It's a fairly small town, especially in relation to a great city like this one. But nonetheless, I wasn't a farm g—"

He broke off suddenly and coughed.

"I wasn't a farmer," Hooper clarified. "My father was a physician. I watched him working growing up. I knew one day I'd like to follow in his footsteps."

"Which was how you came to be here," Irene said with a nod. "Understandable."

"Yes. And you?" Hooper asked.

Irene smiled. "I don't believe me telling you where I grew up will matter all that much."

An image flashed into her mind of her mother and father. It had been so long since she'd last thought of them.

"Londoner would be my deduction," Hooper said, looking up with a warm look in her eyes. "But that could very possibly be wrong."

"I will neither confirm nor deny," Irene said steadily.

"I also deduce that Adler isn't your real surname," Hooper said easily.

"In that you are correct," Irene said, though she did her best to keep her face impassive. She was truly impressed by the guess, but she couldn't show it. Hooper mustn't know what he was doing to her.

"Though it is my most commonly used alias," she added. "I liked the sound of it…strong…powerful…"

"When did you change it?"

Irene looked up, eyeing Hooper curiously. She had perhaps briefly mentioned a change in name to Kate. But otherwise, she'd let most assume it was the name she'd been given since birth. How odd it was to find someone to share something so intimate with; she almost shivered at the idea.

"A long time ago," Irene said. "I decided I wanted to go make my way in the world. My family didn't approve. It was for the best to simply…disappear. Create a new identity."

"Disapproving families…" Hooper said with a sigh.

Irene watched as his hands worked over the body. "Surely yours can't dislike you. You're a successful man. Good looking even if you're a bit scrawny and short. And smart too. Intelligence really is such a crucial thing in people. Why, I'd rather take a smart person to bed than a handsome one any day. So much more creative."

She winked and admired the blush that crossed his face as a result.

"What my family thinks of me hardly matters," Hooper said with a wave of his hand. "I don't care. I've made my way in the world and that is what's important. I suppose you and I do share that at least."

Irene inched closer. She wanted a little more closeness, a better chance to read facial expressions.

"Your landlady also mentioned you're good friends with a lovely Miss Hawkins…yet it seems you have no intention of marrying her. Why is that?" Irene asked, smirking.

Hooper looked up at her to actually stare her in the eyes. Something darkened in his face, and Irene glimpsed something there that she knew she'd have to dig up to truly understand. Bitterness perhaps. Anger. Hurt.

"I have no interest in marriage," Hooper said. His tone was even, but his jaw clenched.

"A pity," Irene said. "I'm sure many women have mourned your loss. I quite agree with you though. I have no intention of ever tying myself down to a man."

He glanced at her, looking her over.

"Marriage can be a prison," Hooper agreed, and she again wondered at what had caused a young man such as himself to lose hope.

"Besides, one can lose all chances at fun in tying oneself down," Irene said.

She reached out and touched his arm, unable to contain herself. Her hand settled on his shoulder, admiring the warmth of his skin even beneath his clothing. There was a second of peace before it ended.

Hooper flinched, withdrawing suddenly.

"I'm getting nowhere," the man said in a stiff voice. She sensed a door had suddenly been closed between them. "I need to concentrate to make any progress. And I'm afraid this is…too much of a distraction. Would you be willing to leave?"

Irene pulled back, surveying him. So there was more to cracking this man open than she'd thought. Well, if he continued to work her case she'd have more than enough time to find her own means of doing so.

"I'll be back in a few days," Irene said.

Hooper still failed to look up. She stood there a moment longer, watching him. It had been a long time since a man had so fully caught her interest. In fact, the last she could think of was Sherlock Holmes himself. There were similarities of course. Both intelligent work driven men. But there was something distinct about Hooper.

Her eyes drifted over his form, searching for signs of what it was that had her so captivated.

"Fine," Hooper said, drawing her from her thoughts.

The man looked up again and she caught a glimpse of those deep expressive eyes.

"I will telegram ahead this time," Irene added. "If that is agreeable."

"Yes," Hooper said. "That's fine."

"Until next we meet then," Irene said, turning towards the door. She glanced back only once, delighted to catch his eyes on her. He immediately began to busy himself with something else, but that look was enough for her.

Hooper would be as interested in her by the end as she was interested in him. It was only a pity he was a man.

* * *

By the time Molly returned home she was thoroughly exhausted. It had been a long day of work to begin with, and with the stress of Irene Adler turning up that evening, she just needed to have some sleep. The fact that she had made no progress on the case at all was also thoroughly troublesome.

Molly headed up the stairs. She stopped only when she heard the telltale creak of the door behind her.

"Mr. Hooper?"

She turned back to see Mrs. Brownlow in the doorway, peering out at her curiously.

"Apologies for another late night, Mrs. Brownlow," Molly said with a sigh. "I will try to be in earlier the next few nights to avoid disturbing you."

"Oh no no no dear," Mrs. Brownlow said, waving a hand. "I just wanted to pass a telegram to you before you go upstairs."

"Oh, thank you so much," Molly said. She reached to take the offered piece of paper.

Part of her immediately thought of Irene. Perhaps it was from her. But so soon? Was something wrong?

Her heartrate spiked, though she had no idea why. No case before this had caused her such anxiety. Nonetheless she took the paper, and she immediately opened the message up, only to sigh in relief. No, instead of words there were numbers instead. She knew immediately whom this was from, and it was not her client.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Brownlow," she said before turning to go back up the stairs.

Back in her chambers she went to her bookshelf and grabbed a volume. She flipped through the pages indicated, searching for the words. In a matter of minutes she had the message solved.

"Meeting Wednesday night 9. Be careful."

She nodded. Good. It was more than past time for another sisterhood meeting.

* * *

There was always some work involved with getting to a sisterhood meeting with no trouble. She would pack up her dress and wig and bring it along to change at one of the member's houses beforehand.

There were times she'd simply changed into female apparel in her own flat. But she didn't risk it too often for fear that Mrs. Brownlow might start to recognize her and realize the truth.

After some work getting back in the female form, Molly headed out with her companion, Mrs. Dalloway. The two of them took her carriage to the meeting place assigned.

It had taken some adjusting getting used to the new place. But most of the women were aware that with Holmes's knowledge they now had to take new precautions.

The women were tittering by the time she arrived. She could hear the tension brewing amongst them, especially as Lady Thompson stood up to begin their meeting.

"It has come to our attention that there is a new matter which we might need to act upon," she said. "Sisters, a most unfortunate situation has become clear to us, one I believe we should use to our advantage. Lord Stanley recently found out that his daughter had been having an improper relationship with a young man. He cast her out of his home, left her destitute. The young man fled in the meantime, as too often they do. She was discovered frozen in the streets three days ago…."

There was a murmur among them. Molly swallowed. These stories came so often that sometimes she wondered if she would become numb to them after a time. But even after more than a year with her sisters, she still found herself shocked by some of the atrocities done to women.

"This is the same Lord Stanley who has been seen frequenting brothels," Lady Thompson said with a sniff. "And yet he would sit there and allow his daughter to die for her impurity without a thought. He must be stopped. He must be killed."

She listened to the various women whispering, trying to make sense of what had been said. Molly wasn't alone in her reservations. Though she could hear a few actively demanding his blood.

"No," Molly spoke up. "We can't. It was fine for a member of our own. Lady Carmichael knew the risks. Emilia Ricoletti willingly sacrificed herself. But we have no indication that this would be what Lady Stanley wants."

Lady Thompson scoffed. "Oh please, she complains about him daily. She and her other daughter would both be better off without his care. And his other surviving daughter is his only heir, and an unmarried one at that. She will inherit his estate. They will most likely thrive in his absence."

Molly sighed. Well, at least there was that comfort. She knew all too well how lucky women were to have the concept of feme sole. It was perhaps one of her primary motivations for not marrying…the realization that she would never again be legally able to hold property. She thought of her family house in Huntingdon. Part of her had always dreamed of returning. She kept stock of it from afar, but it was difficult. Her heart longed to return to its roots.

"But there remains another matter," Molly said. "We know full well that we were cautioned to not kill again. Holmes was merciful when he had Lady Carmichael arrested. He left the rest of us be in spite of being accomplices in the act. We do not know what might happen if we continue to avenge ourselves in death."

A few other women rallied her cry in agreement. She watched several shift anxiously. Janine swallowed and reached out to grip her hand.

"Mr. Holmes," Lady Thompson said in a low voice, "is of no concern to us. We continue as normal. Lady Carmichael paid her price. Her sacrifice has allowed us to continue. And in that we should honor her by continuing her work."

Molly's jaw clenched.

"Who's to say he won't turn us in anyways!" another girl cried. "He very well might at any moment!"

"I trust him," Molly said, raising her voice to be heard amongst the clamoring crowd. "When he says he won't destroy our group, I believe him. But that does not mean he can allow us to disobey the law. There are limits even for him. We must not kill or else we will be finished. Is that what we want? Is that how we honor Lady Carmichael, by all being sent to prison?"

Lady Thompson glared at her. "Your trust in Holmes is misplaced, Miss Hooper. He is a man like any other. Just because of your silly infatuation does not mean the rest of us need live in fear. Miss Edens is right. We must act now. Who knows how much longer our secret will be kept."

Molly bit her lip, for fear that she might say something she would regret later. Janine's hand squeezed hers more tightly.

"We begin planning," Lady Thompson said. "All who are reluctant to participate may leave."

Molly felt eyes on her, and she nodded. Without another word she turned to go, slipping Janine's hand from hers.

She walked with her head held high. Other women could think what they liked, but years of hiding as a man had taught her that there were times when one needed to be practical. This careful practice they had built required true precision and caution, not the blind rage that Lady Thompson was running on.

She noted the door opening again after she left. She turned to see Janine standing there.

"Molly," Janine said, "please, you're one of the best planners. Come help?"

She shook her head. "I can't, Janine. It's…I trust Sherlock. I really do. But I know that there's only so far we can go. We need to start finding other ways to invest in our fellow women. There has to be another way."

Janine sighed. "She's right you know. If you weren't so…interested in him…you wouldn't care."

Molly swallowed and took another few steps towards the door before pausing.

"What I feel for Holmes is irrelevant," she said. "It will never matter. And I'm smart enough to know when to avoid letting my feelings get in the way. But I do know this has gone far enough…and the bloodlust Emilia's death has sparked is getting out of hand. How much longer before we don't know where to draw the lines? When will it stop, Janine?"

"When we have justice," Janine suggested.

Molly shook her head. "Fire doesn't fight fire. I'm done. I'll let you know if I'm interested in coming to another meeting. But for now, I'll only say don't expect me."

She turned and walked away without another word. It felt like she was tearing herself in two. Between the sisters and Sherlock and all she knew was right. Between her father who had raised her to believe in basic morality and herself who had grown so used to the idea that society was wrong about women. But even so, she didn't hesitate as she closed the door. It was time to say goodbye. At least for now.

* * *

 **A/N: So I do sort of characterize Irene as sort of pansexual homoromantic (not that they would have used such terms in Victorian times mind you)… I don't know why it's just how I read her. I picture her being interested in sex with almost anyone she is attracted to, regardless if they are male or female or anything else, but definitely only interested in real romantic relationships with women. But other interpretations are fine too so don't worry if that's not how you see her!**

 **I had someone who was confused last chapter about the sisterhood. I hope my note at the beginning of chapter one might help, but feel free to ask if you ever have any questions. I would rather be sure I'm communicating well than have you be confused! Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

Molly sighed and rubbed her eyes again before bending back over the body. She paused only when she heard sounds from the hallway, lifting her head to look up towards the doorway. After pulling a sheet back over her work, she stepped towards the hall.

She was just in time to see two police officers enter the room, each carrying the end of another corpse.

"What's this?" Molly asked, brushing her hands on her apron.

"Another one," one of the men said. "A woman that is. Lestrade said to have her brung in and given to Anderson."

Molly frowned. "I'm working the case. I've done the other two victims myself. Bring it over here and I'll have a look."

Anderson had stepped forward from where he'd been working. He glanced nervously at Molly before looking back to the officer.

"There must be a mistake," Molly clarified. "Lestrade almost always trusts me with his cases. And besides, he's already had me do the others."

"No," the man said with a frown. "He said Anderson. We're to give it to him."

Molly shook her head.

"Lestrade must have simply said it wrong," she said. "If you'll bring it over here I'll just start on it myself. There's no problem."

The man took a step away from her.

"I'm afraid we were given strict instructions," he said. He looked to Anderson. "Where would you like it, sir?"

Anderson nodded back towards one of the other tables. "I'll take a look at it over here if you don't mind."

He glanced up at Molly, eyebrows furrowed. Even an idiot like him knew what this had to mean. Something wasn't right.

"Fine," Molly said. "I'll take it up with your boss later. Anderson, you do a thorough job in the meantime. But don't mistake me, this little error will be cleared up soon. Am I understood?"

Anderson swallowed and nodded.

"Good, then get back to work," she growled.

He scurried over to the table to begin working on the body. Molly glanced from afar, but she was aware there was little she could do until this was cleared up. How dare Lestrade even try to take her off the cas?. She'd make him regret it later.

For the moment she turned and stalked back over to her table. She pulled out her scalpel, taking one deep breath before beginning the necessary cuts. She sliced away the flesh, holding tight to the knife as she let the pleasure in her work wash away the stinging hurt of having her work taken away.

* * *

It wasn't often that she visited Scotland Yard. More often than not, Lestrade visited her at the morgue, or even more regularly they exchanged telegram correspondence. But Molly was aware that this was an instance that required an actual visit and not just a slip of paper.

She marched into Lestrade's office, intent on making a point. Molly took a few deep breaths, keeping in mind to keep her shoulders back and her head held high. After years of practice, she'd become quite effective at emitting this persona.

She stormed past the other sergeants at their desks, banging open Lestrade's office door and stepping into the room without a second thought. She heard a clamor behind her and was aware a few of the sergeants had rushed over to apprehend her. Their hands were on her arms, but she brushed them off, sending icy glares at every man who dared to touch her.

"I will not be accosted," she said firmly. "I'm here to speak to Detective Inspector Lestrade, and I will not allow others to stand in my way.

Lestrade sighed from his seat, laying his paperwork aside and putting his feet back down from where they'd been resting on the desk itself.

"Hooper, what in god's name are you doing here?" he demanded, shaking his head. "Er, you may go," he said, nodding to the sergeants.

She waited until the door had closed to speak.

"I want to know why I was taken off the case," Molly said, pressing her advantage of standing while he was sitting and making sure to lean her face closer to his.

"The case?" Lestrade asked, staring.

"The...the women's case," Molly snapped. "I don't know if you've named it yet. But the two women and now the third who were murdered. _I_ was the one looking at their bodies. It was _I_ who was in charge of that case. And I do not appreciate being suddenly yanked off of the case for absolutely no reason."

Lestrade blinked for a moment and then seemed to catch on.

"Oh oh yes, that case. Yes, I know what you're referring to now. I apologize, it actually wasn't my decision."

Molly's jaw clenched. "That was what your men said. That you ordered it over to Anderson instead of me."

Lestrade sighed. "Hooper, you're a phenomenal worker. I won't deny it. And honestly I've had no problems with you over the past few years. In fact, I would have kept the case in your hands if it were my choice. But the fact of the matter is...I've...well...I've been given orders..."

"By whom?" Molly hissed.

Lestrade looked at his desk instead of meeting her eyes and it occurred to her who it must be.

"You're letting _him_ boss you around now?" she demanded. "After everything he's put you through suddenly he just gets to give you orders?"

Lestrade sighed. "He's finicky, Hooper. You know that as well as I. Honestly, it did seem odd...him asking for Anderson instead of you. But I had to respect his wishes. If not, he would have dropped the case. And I really do need him on this one. Without his help I'm lost. We all are. So please, just put up with it. Just this once."

Molly reached up to rub her temple. How dare he? Of course, Holmes would do something like this. Pettily remove her work from her as punishment for keeping secrets. Her only satisfaction was in realizing he must still be unaware of what it was, or else he'd have simply mentioned it to her instead of trying to punish her.

"I don't have time for this," she managed to grit out. "There's work to be done."

"Precisely," Lestrade said. "I'm sorry, Hooper. It's not my decision."

She looked up. "If I get Holmes to change his mind will you put me back on it?"

Lestrade shrugged. "Of course. But how on earth are you going to do that?"

Molly smirked. "By proving there are others out there just as stubborn and pigheaded as he is."

She stalked out without another word. Honestly, there was no need to politeness, not when Lestrade had acted as he had. She shook her head. Time to go confront the real culprit then.

* * *

She arrived at 221 B Baker Street about twenty minutes later. She paid her cabby before descending, knocking thrice on the door, and waiting. Molly hadn't entirely planned out what she would say, but she knew the gist of it. She would demand Holmes put her back on the case. After all, he knew better than anyone did how incompetent Anderson could be.

However, Molly had trouble keeping a serious face when Mrs. Hudson, Holmes' landlady answered the door.

"Is Mr. Holmes in?" she asked.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson said, glancing over her shoulder as though to check. "I don't believe so dear. Can I take a message for you?"

Molly found herself slumping. Just her luck. "Oh, no...I just need to speak with him. Have you any idea where he might have gone?"

Mrs. Hudson frowned. "Oh, I haven't the faintest. He mentioned something to me but I can't remember. He's always rushing off. Is it urgent?"

"No," she said curtly. "But I still would like to speak with him. You have no idea when he'll be in or where else I might find him?"

Mrs. Hudson peered at her for a moment.

"You aren't...Mr. Hooper by any chance?" she asked, voice slightly off key from her usual tone.

Molly stiffened. "I am? What does that matter? Has Holmes mentioned me?"

Mrs. Hudson glanced around. "Come in, dear. I'll make you some tea for a moment and we can chat. Perhaps in that time our detective will make himself known again."

Molly was tempted to decline, but there was something about Mrs. Hudson that made her feel disinclined to be rude. She nodded and stepped in, removing her hat and coat for Mrs. Hudson to take from her.

"Go sit in the parlor, dear. I'll be with you in a moment."

Molly sighed but did as she was told.

She glanced around the rooms, noting it was surprisingly clean. She knew little of Holmes' residence other than what she read of them. This was not entirely what she had pictured. Then again, the other flat upstairs was possibly different.

"Now then," Mrs. Hudson said, coming in with a pot of tea. "I'll serve this up in a moment. But I thought perhaps you might want to go into the powder room. You...your binding seems to have slipped, dear."

Molly froze. She looked down after a moment and realized with a start that Mrs. Hudson was entirely right. She hadn't even noticed it slipping, but the fabric had rumpled beneath her waistcoat.

"Oh...I..." she hesitated, unable to find the words to say what she wanted. "I...thank you. I'll be just a moment."

It took her a few minutes really to straighten out the binding. But in that time she spent much of it pondering what to really say. It was one thing to have Janine know. Or even Holmes or Watson. But this woman was a stranger. And Molly had no idea what she might do with the information. Perhaps she should offer a bribe. Or...or something else. Threaten her? God that sounded terrible.

She exited the room still feeling a little unsure of herself. But she noted the older woman was still smiling as she poured a cup of tea.

"There, better is it? You needn't worry, I don't think anyone else even noticed. I have a keen eye. And I did recall Holmes and Watson mentioning you. They forget I can hear them sometimes you see. I must say, you are much prettier than they said."

Mrs. Hudson peered at her, and Molly blushed under the scrutiny.

"Oh, you pass all right as a man," Mrs. Hudson said with a wave of her hand. "But you have some lovely features. You must make quite the lady when you're all dolled up."

"I...I hope you understand I need this...kept quiet," Molly said calmly.

Mrs. Hudson smiled and nodded. "Of course, dear. I know better than you'd think. Life as a woman is never easy. You're doing the best you can, I'm sure."

Molly nodded, sipping at her drink and wondering how she could possibly have misjudged.

"I've led a bit of a wild life myself, you see," Mrs. Hudson whispered. "Nothing like this, mind you. But still...I don't tend to judge."

"Yes," Molly said. She set her teacup down. "But the matter at hand is really what I came about. I need to see Mr. Holmes. Are you sure you have no idea where he is?"

Mrs. Hudson sighed and sank back in her seat. "He rushed off earlier today muttering things. He could be gone for a few days. However, Dr. Watson was not with him. It is possible that he is available if you'd like to speak with him. You might find him at his home residence. He does go there on occasion."

Molly frowned. It wasn't as good as going directly to Sherlock, but she would take what she could get. Time was of the essence.

"If you'd give me the address that would be perfect," Molly said with her best smile.

Mrs. Hudson nodded and rose to go find some paper to write it down.

"You must come back again for tea, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "We never have enough women around this place other than Mrs. Watson. And that's still rarer than I'd like. I do enjoy a bit of company."

Molly smiled as she took the address. "I will try to visit again sometime, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you for your hospitality."

Mrs. Hudson beamed at her. "Oh it's no trouble at all. Any time. Why I do so wish you the best of luck. You are such a lovely thing, that I simply cannot imagine why you haven't yet been snatched up. Stay safe, dear."

Molly nodded, clutching the address a little tighter. Her safety wasn't important at the moment. After all, when she got hold of Holmes it was him that Mrs. Hudson should really be worried about.

* * *

She rang the Watson's bell and listened for the response. Molly almost gasped when Eliza answered the door. She'd almost forgotten her fellow sister worked as the Watsons' maid.

"Mr. Hooper," Eliza said with a smile. "Won't you come in?"

She nodded and entered into the residence.

"Is Dr. Watson in?" she asked. "I'd like to speak with him."

Eliza tilted her head a little. "He is. Though I thought for sure you'd be after Mr. Holmes instead."

Her pulse spiked. "Is he here then?"

"No," Eliza said with a smirk. "But with you being so keen on him I just thought perhaps..."

"That is none of your business," Molly said. "I will speak with Dr. Watson then."

Eliza muttered something. Molly wondered if she should perhaps mention the impertinence to Dr. Watson, but she let it be. The last thing she wanted was to cost Eliza her job. Then the sisterhood would really hate her.

"Dr. Watson?" Eliza called, rapping on a door. "Mr. Hooper is here to see you."

"Oh, send he-err him in."

Molly allowed herself to be led into the parlor. Watson was sitting with a newspaper, though he folded it and laid it aside as she entered, rising to his feet before seeming to realize his mistake.

"Er...I..."

"Eliza is aware already," Molly said simply. "You needn't worry. Though in the future I hope you'll not worry about standing in my presence. I prefer to forget such social customs."

Watson still stood standing until she was seated. Molly frowned. It had been a long time since she'd been in this reversed role, allowing a gentleman to stand for her and let her be seated first.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Hooper?" Watson asked. "Would you like some tea?"

Molly shook her head. "No thank you. Mrs. Hudson took the liberty of serving me some when I visited Holmes' flat."

Watson nodded and motioned to Eliza to exit, closing the door behind her.

"I'm afraid Holmes is not here if that's why you've come."

Molly frowned. "I did. But I will settle for speaking with you instead. I want to know why Holmes ordered me off the case. For Anderson of all people. I won't tolerate it."

Watson sighed and reached to rub his temple. "Hooper...you must understand that after the...invisible army nonsense...Holmes has been finding it difficult to trust you. Between that, finding you were a woman, and of course noting you seem to be keeping secrets again, I'm afraid he may have lost confidence in you."

Molly sat back, taking in the information. There was logic in that she supposed, though she wished Holmes would understand her motives for some of the secrecy. Men too often refused to understand the plight of a woman.

"I just want to help," Molly said. "Solve the case. Is that so wrong?"

"Wrong?" Watson asked. "No. But that doesn't mean we can just allow you to continue working on it given everything."

Her jaw clenched. "It's because I'm a woman, isn't it? Because now that you know you don't think I'm capable enough to do my work."

Watson's eyes flared suddenly, and he straightened.

"Now look here, neither Holmes nor myself has a problem with your sex. Fairer or not, you've proven yourself to be quite capable. Passed medical school, helped us solve multiple crimes. We cannot sit here and even begin to pretend that you are not a fully qualified person due to the fact that you are...well..."

He gestured to her, and Molly turned her gaze away, flushing.

"But," Watson continued, "that does not change the fact that you have lied to us and appear to currently be lying to us. So no, I have no intention of allowing you back on the case until we have reestablished some trust between us."

Molly sighed. She had to think this through. There had to be some means of convincing Watson who would in turn convince Holmes. But she was running short of cards to play. Beyond her own passion for the case and the fact that they were potentially biased as to her real identity, Molly had few other tactics to try.

 _Find the weakness._

That was immediately what her brain came to. In cutting apart a corpse, one knew there were certain places that worked better to dig a scalpel into. Digging a tactical knife into Watson was much the same. But where to strike?

Holmes. Her mind supplied the answer. Holmes was Watson's weakness if ever he'd had one. And she soon had some form of an idea in place.

"I will tell you," Molly concurred, folding her hands in her lap and lifting her head. "Only because I am concerned...for Holmes."

Watson's brow raised. "And what is it?"

Molly lowered her eyes a little, calculating her delivery of the information.

"What do you know about The Woman?" she asked.

Watson's face paled. "Why?"

"Because," Molly said. "She's involved. It's why I haven't told Holmes...because I know...I know that they...their relationship is complicated."

Watson nodded, sitting back a little in his chair. "How right you are," he muttered. "Good god, _the_ woman. Involved in this. Somehow it doesn't surprise me. But you were right not to mention anything to Holmes. He wouldn't handle it well."

Molly had to do everything in her power to resist preening at the knowledge that she had thoroughly duped Watson.

"What did she do to him anyways?" Molly asked.

He looked up and shook his head.

"I'd rather not even say. But it was unfortunate, and Holmes was not the same again...for days after he wouldn't eat or sleep."

Molly looked at him curiously, pondering that. What could Irene have done to him?

"Argue with him to put me back on the case," she insisted. "Only I am going to give you results. You must know that."

Watson was silent for a moment, but he nodded.

"Fine. You have my word. Though I do agree with you on one thing. There must be no mention of The Woman made to Holmes. Do you understand?"

Molly nodded. "Of course."

She stood, ready to go. With any luck Watson would have her back on the case in a day. And she could finally start making some headway.

"And Hooper?"

She turned towards him, wondering what more there was he needed to say. Watson rose from his chair and approached her.

"You must steer clear of The Woman. She's dangerous. Manipulative and cunning...a spider that will spin you up in her web faster than you can scream for help."

Molly tilted her head. But before she could scoff and walk away, Watson had grabbed her wrist.

"Promise me?" he insisted. "Steer clear of her. She's nothing but trouble. I...I know we haven't precisely been friends, but I do not wish to see you hurt, Hooper."

She jerked in his grip, but it remained firm. Short of attacking him back, there was no means of releasing herself.

"I promise," she lied.

Her arm was surrendered. She turned towards the door. Perhaps Watson was right, The Woman might be dangerous. But everything in her was convinced his warning was solely because of her sex. And Molly knew already she was strong enough not to be so easily cowed. She might have destroyed Sherlock Holmes, but it was only because he was the very thing Molly was not. It was the one time Molly felt certain her sex would work to her advantage. After all, feminine wiles would never do the same to her that they had done to the great detective.

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter will have Irene back I promise.**

 **Thank you all so much for your fantastic feedback. It's really kept me going on this project so thank you so much!**


	7. Chapter 7

She stooped over the corpse, doing her best to scan for new details even as her eyes attempted to flutter closed. This was becoming hopeless.

Anderson had surrendered the body to her the moment the order came through. Part of Molly wondered what precisely Watson had said to get Holmes to make the decision, but she soon decided it wasn't important. After all, she had a short amount of time to make up for how poorly Anderson had done.

But now she was beginning to feel fatigue setting in. And with it hopelessness.

"Damn this," Molly snapped, pushing away her tools and pulling back from the table.

She heard a sound and looked up. Surely Irene wasn't back so soon?

However, her fear of seeing her familiar client was eased when a young woman in a dingy dress and apron came in carrying a mop.

"Oh, sorry sir," the girl said with a curtsy. "I had thought the morgue would be empty now. It's...it's my scheduled time to clean."

Molly gazed down at the corpse in disgust.

"Go ahead and clean," she muttered. "I'm finished."

The girl nodded and started at one corner. Molly stood there for a moment, hoping if she looked one more time she'd perhaps garner some last minute clues that she had previously missed.

"This yours, sir?"

She looked up to see the cleaning girl holding a scrap of paper in her hand.

"Oh," Molly said. She reached to take it. It took her a second to recognize it.

"Yes," she said. "Something that was left on the body. I don't know what it means though."

"Oh, it's one of them suffragist groups," the girl said. "I've seen 'em meeting before. This's about one of them meetings in Soho square."

Molly paused and looked up in astonishment.

"Suffrage. Women's votes? You're sure?"

"Positive," the girl said. "I've been half tempted to join one meself...if I thought it'd make a difference." She paused seeming to realize this might prove offensive to a man like Molly. "Begging your pardon, sir. I merely...it's no matter."

"You are free to seek what rights you wish," Molly murmured, examining the girl's dark complexion. "Thank you for your help. What's your name?"

"Donovan, sir," she said with another loose curtsy. "But you can call me Sally if you'd like."

"Thank you, Donovan," Molly said. "I appreciate it. That was a very helpful clue you've given me."

"Of course, sir. Glad to be of some help."

"Could you look at some other things for me?" Molly asked. "I might have missed something. And you seem quite sharp...and I would hope you'd be unlikely to run your mouth about anything you might see."

Donovan's eyes lit up. "Like being a real detective and everything, sir? I've always dreamed it. When I have enough extra wages I like to pay for the occasional detective stories. I don't care much for the Sherlock Holmes ones in _The Strand_ , he seems a bit… odd to me. But there are others I read."

Molly smiled. "Precisely, just like a real detective."

Her expression darkened suddenly, and Molly wondered if she'd misstepped.

"What's in it for you, sir?"

Molly hesitated. "I don't care who you are, Donovan. You're smart. And you're likely more knowledgeable about things that I know nothing about. Your help could give me what I need to crack the case. Will you help me?"

She relaxed a little. Molly sensed suddenly she might have worried for her safety with a man suddenly taking a strange interest in her.

"Well, I'll do what I can, sir."

A few minutes later had given her other answers. The girl in the maid's uniform was a lady's maid. Donovan made sure she understood this meant the girl was from a prominent household, and if questions were asked it was likely her identity might be discovered at least through other staff connections. Donovan promised to make this happen.

In the meantime Molly had her first plan of action to begin having some answers. She would attend the suffrage meeting, and perhaps then she'd finally start understanding what was happening to these women.

Thoroughly satisfied, she headed home feeling for once she could rest in peace.

* * *

Molly sent a telegram to Irene to declare her discovery. She'd hoped in some ways that perhaps Irene would have some connection to the suffrage group. After all, a strong-minded woman like Irene was likely to think women deserved the vote, wasn't she?

It wasn't that Molly herself was opposed, but more that the open publicity of such a group didn't seem to suit her in her persona as a man. So she'd supported quietly from the side instead.

But in order to attend the rally in Soho square, Molly knew she'd probably be best able to find information in her women's wear.

Molly fiddled with her skirt as she stood waiting for things to begin. She'd listened around, but for the moment she didn't know where to start asking questions. She felt a little lost, until she caught sight of a familiar face.

"Molly," said the woman she'd spotted, smiling. "How good to see you."

"Mrs. Watson," Molly said with a swallow. "I didn't realize you were...part of these things."

"Oh of course," Mary said. "And you must call me Mary. I insist."

Molly didn't bother to take the correction but instead decided to press her advantage of knowing someone in the crowd.

"I'm here on a case," Molly said.

"Ooh, exciting," Mary said, her eyes sparkling. "Nothing the boys know about I trust?"

"No," Molly said. "Not exactly."

Mary's smile grew. "I have no intention of telling either my husband or his companion. I promise you that, Molly."

She nodded and was about to ask if Mary knew of any women missing from the usual ranks. However, before she could Molly was arrested by the sight of someone she had never expected to be there.

Molly froze, staring out at the crowd. She had a moment of panic between wondering if she should hide or if she should simply act as nonchalant as possible.

Irene Adler strode towards the front of the masses. She scanned the crowd once, blue gray eyes glinting for a second. Molly sighed in relief as they passed over her. But then again, she was a no one. She tended to almost always blend into the crowds as a woman. A plain and mousey little girl.

"What's the matter?" Mary asked.

"Nothing," Molly said a little too quickly. "I...do you notice anyone missing who's usually here? There's been a murder...and...I believe the woman was connected to your group."

Mary's eyes widened before she scanned the crowd.

"I can't be sure at the moment. I would really have to think. Not everyone comes to every rally anyhow."

Molly bit her lip. This was proving harder than she'd expected. Her one clue was leading to another dead end.

As she stood by she noted a murmur sweeping the group.

"What's going on?" Molly asked.

"I'm not sure," Mary said. "Could be trouble. If I tell you to run, you'll run, do you understand?"

Her shock was difficult to contain, but she managed a nod.

However, before there was any chance of her needing to flee, a cry rang out.

"Does anyone know where Mrs. Bethney is?"

Molly glanced around, looking at the faces that all seemed equally confused. The only exception was Irene a few paces away, who was scanning the crowd looking mildly interested.

"Perhaps…" Molly managed, before more questions were added to the fray. This had to be it. She turned to Mary. "Can you describe her for me?"

Mary's brow furrowed, but she did manage. "Brown hair, blue eyes. Probably a little taller than myself with a thin and wiry frame. She's a widow, so she has enough wealth to show it off in her clothing..." Mary considered for a moment. "She has a mole on her temple, just near her hairline."

Molly sucked in a breath. "Well, that's one identity given," she whispered. "She's dead, Mary."

Mary was somehow calm. Molly wasn't sure why, but she'd expected some sort of an emotional reaction. Mary didn't give her one.

"You have to solve this," Mary said staring up towards the front of the crowd. "She was a good woman. Our group will not be the same without her."

Molly managed a nod. She was about to ask a question about where to find information on Mrs. Bethney's family, but she was interrupted by someone bumping into her, nearly knocking her to the ground.

"Apologies," said a silky voice.

Molly gasped and looked up to see Irene Adler standing beside her. She withdrew quickly, doing her best to keep her face angled away so that Irene wouldn't get a full look.

"Are you all right?" The Woman asked, tilting her head slightly as she examined Molly.

"I...I'm fine, thank you," she whispered. She glanced at Mary. "Apologies, I have to be going."

Irene had turned away, but Molly wasn't risking anymore. Her secret had to be kept safe.

Without another word, she hustled away. There would be time for questioning later. She had the biggest piece to her puzzle.

* * *

Irene was feeling more confident by the time she left the suffragette group. All it had taken was a few minutes to find out who the dead woman was. Irene hated to admit it, but she had begun to realize that if the murders were connected then she indeed wasn't the target. She hadn't known this woman or the maid. Surely there was another factor involved then.

Her attention, after finding out the information she had wanted, was diverted by the lovely women around her. She knew, of course, that a good part of it was her missing Kate. But it was difficult not to fantasize a little with such a wide selection of intelligent passionate women.

She bumped into some pretty young thing at one point. Some wide eyed trembling girl who reeked of virginity. At any other time she might have tried to pluck that flower herself.

Irene had a few seconds to consider, but she was quickly more interested in scanning the crowd. She noticed a few frowning onlookers. Perhaps one of them was responsible. Someone who hated women like this.

It wasn't until she felt a gaze on her that she began to become uncomfortable. She looked over her shoulder and found a blonde woman staring at her fiercely. It took her a second, but she placed the face after a moment. Mary Watson. Just her luck.

She turned and walked the other direction. Though she did not have reason to believe Mrs. Watson would recognize her, or tell her husband, Irene wasn't chancing it. Besides, a few moments around so many lovely women had inspired her enough. She needed to release a little _tension_.

* * *

A few hours later she waltzed out of one of her old client's houses with a satisfied smile on her face. It had been too long.

"Miss Adler," the man called behind her. "Will you come again?"

"If I'm in the mood," she purred. Though in all honesty she wasn't sure she would. He was a nice means of relieving some of her pent up frustrations, but he didn't have the spirit she required in a truly interesting bedfellow. And besides, men could only sustain her for so long. After having Kate, Irene had learned what she truly longed for.

After all, there was more than sex. She had found companionship and...dare she say it...love. And without that life had already begun to feel a bit more meaningless.

She sighed as she pulled out her key, fumbling with the lock in the darkness.

Just as she was about to open the door, the hairs on the back of her neck lifted. Her intuition had always been something she could trust in the past.

She turned, just in time to see a shadow behind her. The figure moved, a hand rising.

Irene dove just as the shots rang out. She heard footsteps, though they grew further away as she waited.

One glance up gave her a view of the shadowed figure running off into the night.

"So much for your theory, Hooper," Irene muttered as she stood, dusting herself off. "It appears I still have enemies after all."

* * *

Molly awoke to the sound of knocking.

"Oh for god's sake, Hooper, open the door!"

She lifted her head up and yawned.

"What?"

"It's Irene Adler," came the voice in a hiss. "Did you really have a lock installed after the last time?"

"Yes," Molly muttered. "Because I knew you'd likely try the same thing again."

She jumped out of bed and snatched up her dressing gown before moving to her dresser to snatch up her mustache. She lit a candle to see by, and began her work. It took a minute to attach in which time the banging only continued to grow more insistent, but Molly paid it no mind.

"You have thirty seconds before I pick the lock," Irene said.

Molly suspected she really could if she put her mind to it, so she unlocked the bedroom door and motioned Irene in. The woman pushed past her, and for a moment Molly felt a sense of promnesia. Her heart beat quicker as she wondered if she might have been recognized.

"My landlady will have your head if you continue to show up like this," Molly muttered. "Especially in the middle of the night. So what is it that was so important you had to wake me and half of London?"

Irene rolled her eyes. "Half of London is still awake. I was just out in it a minute ago enjoying how very awake it was. That was until I was shot at in front of my house. It's no longer safe for me to return there."

Molly froze. "What?"

"I was shot at," Irene said, turning to pace the length of the room. "I needed a place to hide. Your flat seemed ideal."

Molly shook her head. "No! I...you can't."

Irene turned towards her with a smirk. "Oh, worried about your virtue, Hooper?" She stalked closer, causing Molly to swallow and pull the robe a little tighter.

"The fact still remains," Molly said, doing her best to keep the tremor out of her voice. "That I cannot allow you to stay here."

Irene's smirk grew. She pushed the coat she was wearing further off her shoulders, revealing a dress that left so little to the imagination that Molly had to resist closing her eyes. The fabric clung to her curvaceous hips and revealed a perfect valley of cleavage that drew the gaze down her body.

"No," Molly insisted again, though she was certain that she didn't sound very convincing.

"Oh please, Mr. Hooper. The lady doth protest too much methinks," she whispered.

Molly jumped for a second, afraid she'd somehow been found out. But Irene's eyes never left hers as the woman took a few more steps forward. Molly swallowed, but she felt incapable of moving, frozen in the intensity of Irene's gaze.

"Allow me to stay," Irene whispered. "I promise…I'll make it worth your while."

She leaned in closer. Molly had only a moment to realize before it was happening. Vermillion lips were on hers.

Her breath caught, and she had a moment of tensing before she allowed herself to relax. Irene's hand had come up to tangle in her hair, and Molly had to stop herself from gasping. There were a few seconds where there were only sensations. Warm soft lips and sensual sighs and soft caresses.

But Molly only allowed herself a moment to be lost, before she pushed Irene away, bringing a hand up to prevent any further attempts at kissing.

"Now then, Hooper," Irene purred. "Perhaps you'll understand."

Molly took a step backwards. Her heart was racing. She was trying to understand all that had happened, trying to piece back together her shattered comprehension.

The sensations had been lovely. But that had to be all they were. Outside stimulus… she felt her breath catch again. God, it had felt wonderful. However, there were realities she had to face. She was an unmarried girl who hadn't experienced such close contact in a good fifteen years. Her body had reacted to the feelings. And her heart…well she knew she longed for closeness…for someone to share a life with. So many years dressed as man hadn't stopped that.

Confusion. That was what Molly put it down to. A mix up in the dark.

"You need to leave," Molly whispered. "I cannot harbor you here. If you have no other options in the city…you must leave London. I'll provide you with money if you need it. But you would likely be safest elsewhere. Can you manage?"

Irene was silent a moment, simply gazing at her. Molly shifted self-consciously.

"Fine," Irene said. "I'll leave."

She stooped to pick up her coat.

Molly watched as she covered herself again before moving towards the door.

"I will be in touch," Irene said, eyes flicking back towards Molly. "I do wish to know more about the case and how it proceeds. If you hadn't heard, the third victim is a Mrs. Bethney…a suffragist. But as for the rest, I'll have to hear from you." She sighed. "This is connected to me. I'm certain. It's only a matter of time."

"Safe travels," Molly said, deciding not to protest Irene's assumptions. "All will be well. We'll solve this and things will be fine again."

There was a nod from the other woman. And then the door was open, and Molly watched it shut, feeling the tension drain from her body as her visitor disappeared.

She sank back onto the bed with a sigh of relief. Too close for comfort in her opinion. She shook off the confused thoughts and began preparing herself to try to sleep again. Rest was necessary if she was to make any progress on the case.

* * *

Irene had initially thought the idea a silly one. Flee London? She scoffed at the very thought.

And yet, as she'd been standing there staring at Hooper and thinking something was off about the man, she'd had the most brilliant revelation.

There was a means of truly unraveling him yet. He was hiding something, and were she to find it, she'd need to begin searching for clues.

She moved up to the man at the ticket counter, giving him her best smile as she passed over her fare.

"One ticket to Huntingdon please," Irene said with a smirk. It was time to pay a visit to the Hooper family.

* * *

 **A/N: I know I'm so ridiculously cruel and I apologize for that. But it's just a little too early for Irene to figure it out...**

 **I suppose I want to express I am sorry for being unable to give Sally a more prominent role in this. I had wanted this work to feature several of the lovable Sherlock women. Due to the complications of history she couldn't really take her modern role. So I settled with making her a great help to Molly in her own way. I hope that makes sense.**


	8. Chapter 8

The journey to Huntingdon was not overly long. Irene sat back in the train, observing fellow passengers and thinking of her own approach to the matters at hand. She knew subtlety would suit this ploy best. And she'd already worked out a stratagem for it.

As the train pulled into the station, she buttoned up her coat. It had probably been a poor choice not to change before coming. But she would do her best to avoid having to take the garment off. After all, it was possible her search might prove fruitless within a matter of minutes.

A man in the station caught her attention. He had a worn out jacket and a well-used travel case and was walking briskly towards the station with a ticket to London clutched in his hand.

"Excuse me sir," Irene said with a polite smile. "I've just arrived and I'm looking for an old acquaintance of the family. Do you know where the Hooper family lives?"

If Miles was right, in such a small town it would be rare for someone not to know the family.

"Oh, the old Hooper house is down on Rowan Close," the man said with a nod and a tip of his hat. "You ought to find it if you walk down Ermine Street…. It's a big brick house with a picket fence. It'd be difficult to miss."

"Thank you," Irene said with a nod. "Who lives there now? It's been so long since I've had contact with them."

"Just the old lady," the man said with a sigh. "The others are all dead by now. Miles and Elizabeth both."

Irene found herself frowning. "Miles Hooper is dead?"

"Died fifteen years ago," the man said with a shake of his head. "Good man. Valued doctor. We certainly miss him around these parts."

Irene was beginning to have some idea now. Had Miles stolen his identity then? Picked the name off a gravestone? Fifteen years ago had been when he'd come to London after all.

But rather than making quick assumptions, she was determined to track down answers.

"Thank you for your help," Irene said before heading off on her way.

She found the Hooper residence with relative ease. It wasn't far off from the station, down a row of modest houses. Irene's gaze wandered over the neighborhood, trying to imagine a young Hooper playing on the street. The yard had a few trees in it, and she could almost imagine him climbing them.

The strategy had been playing in her mind for the few hours of the train ride. So she knew exactly what to do.

She allowed some of her self-confidence to slide away, dropping her shoulders, letting her smile disappear. With a hesitant hand she reached out towards the door and gave a very light knock.

A maid answered the door. Irene did her best not to allow this to phase her. The Hoopers had been a well-enough family to afford hired help. She should have expected it.

"What can I do for you, miss?" the girl asked, curtsying.

"I need to speak with the mistress of the house if that's all right," Irene said. "I…my family has recently died and I've been seeking out relatives. I was informed the Hoopers were second cousins of mine, and I have come to pay them a visit."

"I'll let Miss Hooper know right away, mum. Will you come in and wait in the entryway?"

Irene nodded and stepped into the home. She glanced around, admiring the elegance even in the semi-modest house. Of course, it did not escape her notice how dusty and unused most everything appeared.

"She'll see you now," the girl said, indicating a door to her right. Irene strode towards it, doing her best not to let the confident persona overtake her. She had to remain somewhat humble for this to work.

An elderly woman was draped in an armchair by the fire. She was frowning into its depths, even as her fingers worked on a piece of fabric on her lap. Irene noted the floral pattern of an embroidered handkerchief.

The woman had to be in her sixties. A hooked nose and fiery brown eyes caught Irene's attention first, but she also noted some shapes in her face that mimicked Miles' own. Perhaps he wasn't lying after all.

"Goodday, ma'am," Irene said with a curtsy. "I am looking for the Hooper family...I've lost my own family lately and I was looking to find some relatives—"

The woman looked up sharply, gaze focusing in on Irene.

"If you've come for money you're wasting your time," she snapped.

"No," Irene said, even as she contained a smile. Was this where Hooper inherited it from then? Distrust and a strong backbone? "You misunderstand. I'm looking for family...just fellow people I can be around in this hard time. I was informed by my father before his passing that we had cousins called the Hoopers in Huntingdon. I had hoped to meet some of them."

The woman snorted. "Hoopers eh? Only one of us left, I'm afraid. Miles and Elizabeth are both dead. But sit if you'd like. There's not much here but you are welcome for a time. I cannot promise I will be good company. What did you say your name was?"

Irene hesitated, knowing a name might give herself away. Nonetheless she settled on the sofa, folding her hands in her lap.

"Irene Monroe," she said softly. "My family is from London. I am not sure quite how we are related."

The woman snorted. "Well, so long as you don't want money I suppose I can forgive such a sad tale. I do admit I have quite lost track of all of the various relations we have."

She fell silent, allowing Irene to ponder on that.

"You said Miles Hooper was dead?" she asked. "How did he die?"

The woman sighed. "Some decade ago. We noticed weariness at first. And then he began to cough. He fell quite ill. Consumption... Tried to continue. He really did. But I'm afraid it wasn't enough. The man faded slowly." She paused and Irene could see her forcing the emotions back. "My dear brother..."

She started at that.

"Miles was your brother?" she asked.

There was no possible way her Hooper could be the same. After all, a brother to this woman had to have been in his forties when he passed.

"Aye," the woman said. "My only."

"And Elizabeth?" Irene pressed, even as her mind began spinning through the possibilities. Hooper had to have stolen his identity.

"In childbirth," the woman said, lips pressing tightly together. "With her second. It didn't make it either. She the babe and my brother are all buried in the churchyard not far from here."

"A second? So there was a first?" Irene asked. "Was he named Miles also?"

Perhaps that was it! It was not so unusual to have a child named after a father. But why then did the woman say she was the only Hooper left? It seemed too unlikely.

The woman's face darkened. "No," she said in a low tone. "A daughter. We don't speak of her here."

The maid returned bearing a tray of tea before Irene could question. But it gave her the proper means of hiding any kind of reaction to the news. She picked up her cup and took a sip, allowing the hot liquid to bite her tongue in fear she might speak out.

A daughter.

A girl.

A...woman?

She inhaled carefully, doing her best to contain her composure, even as her thoughts spun around the new information. Miles Hooper was...a woman.

To Irene it was complete logic. All the hiding. All the secrecy. All the rejections of her advance. She'd thought it might be to do with his own inclinations towards the stronger sex instead of the fairer, but all this time she'd been reading him...her… wrong.

"What was her name?" Irene managed to ask. "My cousin? I...I understand you might not wish to speak of her. But I...I have always longed for a sister. To know there is a girl close to my own age...I would love to know more of her."

Miss Hooper's expression softened. "Molly," she whispered.

Molly. It suited Hooper so much better. Irene smiled as she thought of his short stature and somewhat frail features. She did her best to imagine the soft curve of hips beneath those trousers, and the swell of a bosom that the girl had to be binding. That ridiculous fake mustache...for that was what it had to be. She pictured a smooth upper lip in its place. And long lovely curls cascading down her back. Why, the thought alone had her feeling a bit breathless.

"She is no longer a part of the family, you must understand," Miss Hooper said. "Or at least I refuse to acknowledge her as one."

Irene looked up. "Surely she owns the estate if she was her father's only child."

Miss Hooper scowled. "She does. But she has only been back to visit three or four times. She is as good as dead to me. I run the affairs here for myself."

"She left?" Irene inquired, even though she already knew the answers.

"Yes. Ran off. Left everything like some kind of idiot. The ring upon her dresser and the dress still spread out upon her bed."

It took a moment for Irene to discern the meaning of this phrasing. Of course, Miss Hooper seemed to have thought it obvious.

"Are you implying she was..." Irene broke off, finding it difficult to believe. Not Hooper surely?

"She left on the _day_ of her wedding," Miss Hooper spat. "She was engaged to Mr. Thomas Sinclair. One of the wealthiest men in the county. She'd had suitors before him of course, but him...when she caught his attention out riding one day... why I thought the heavens had finally decided to bless us. After all our misfortune. After all her strong-willed ridiculous ways that I thought were bound to make her a miserable spinster like me... no, instead she had a diamond ring upon her finger, ready to become the perfect wife and live the life she should always have had."

She shook her head and let out a sigh, though Irene could hear the mixture of sorrow and frustration in it.

"I came upstairs to help her get ready that morning. And there it was. Her room empty. Her things packed. The ring left lying on a note, saying she couldn't live this life anymore. That she had decided to go to London."

Irene considered a moment. "Do you know what she does in London?"

The woman scoffed. "She told me she'd become a nurse. But I don't believe it. Likely a harlot by the looks of her. Still no ring on her finger when she visited last year. She'll never be married now."

There was a moment where Irene nodded. With Hooper living life as a man she likely never would, it was true. It put a whole new light on the way Hooper had reacted about Holmes. But she'd made her choices. Hooper had decided to live a professional life instead of a married one. _We all make our choices_.

"Do you have any pictures of the family?" Irene asked, trying to put just a touch of eagerness into her voice. "I would so love to see everyone."

The woman nodded.

"Cora," she called.

The maid appeared in the doorway.

"Show Miss Monroe upstairs to look at the family portraits please. And then come help me get my coat on. It's about time I had my morning walk."

"Right away, miss," the maid said.

She motioned Irene towards the hallway and then led her up the stairs. Irene paused at the place indicated, looking over the three or four pictures hung there. She'd suspected the Hoopers might be well enough off to afford some of these. Her own family could never have dreamed of this...

The maid disappeared down the stairs promising that they would be back in a quarter of an hour or so and stating that Irene should feel free to finish up the tea in the parlor if she was so inclined.

Irene nodded her thanks, though she was mostly riveted to the portraits.

The first was of the family, Mr. Hooper and Miss Hooper both standing together with a little girl between them. Molly looked so young there, eyes aglow long hair plaited, a pretty frock on. Even as a child, she still had the same shape of face. Irene felt certain she would have recognized her in a moment.

The second had them later. Molly looked to be probably fifteen. Irene had to resist the urge to reach out and touch the photograph. She had been right. The girl looked radiant dressed as a woman. Soft curves and beautiful feminine charms. She made a pretty boy, of course. Irene couldn't deny that. But womanhood suited her.

"If you were mine I'd see you put in lovely gowns and jewels," Irene murmured. "I think you'd like it, Molly Hooper. I think there are quite a few things you'd like."

And the last. Of course, had to be some kind of photograph for the wedding. Molly was garbed in a much nicer dress, and the man at her side had an expensive looking suit on. He had one hand on her arm.

He wasn't repulsive. In fact, Irene had to suppress a chuckle because in her opinion the man bore something of a resemblance to Holmes himself.

"Wealthy, handsome, and interested in you, Molly?" she whispered. "And you turned him down."

She heard the door close and new she was now alone in the house. The two were off on their walk, and she smiled. Freedom to search around a bit then. She knew the biggest secret, but a few more couldn't hurt.

She opened a room with furniture covered in sheets first. It was larger than she would have anticipated, so she soon assumed it must have been Miles' late room.

The second door she opened led to a room that was being lived in. Miss Hooper's in all likelihood. So she closed it up and went to the last.

The door opened and she stepped inside. Irene glanced around, and she smiled. She'd been right in her hunch.

The walls were a soft blue, the pillowcases embroidered with what had to be Molly's own handiwork based on the initials. Irene found herself running her hands over the fabric. She'd spent time in Hooper's flat of course, but this was a whole new side of things. The feminine chamber felt so much more…intimate.

She did her best to keep her naughtier fantasies at bay, though it was difficult to not picture a young Molly with her hair down in a frilly nightgown. Irene shivered at the thought. Lovely creature.

The bookshelf was practically overflowing. She glanced over a few titles, noting medical books mixed in with a few novels.

And then her attention refocused on the wardrobe. Irene stalked closer, opening it to glance inside. She stared for a moment, arrested by the sight of the long white wedding gown.

There was a moment where Irene found herself incapable of doing anything besides staring. A woman so close on the brink of typical feminine success… to deny it was the ultimate feat of strength. Irene could not ignore it.

It took her only a few seconds to make her decision.

She shut the closet door and proceeded downstairs, snatching up a biscuit on the tea tray before heading out.

Irene was back on the streets in seconds, striding back towards the train station.

She had spent enough time hiding. She had enough reason to go back. Besides, with all Hooper had blathered on about a killer going after women… it was now clear Hooper herself might be in danger. And Irene wouldn't allow it.

* * *

 **A/N: So I have to get back to my other WIP but I hope you enjoyed this update. I also have another Mollrene oneshot fic added in honor of Femslash February so feel free to check that one out. It's in the modern setting though!**

 **Thanks for all the reviews and everything else. I've loved the support for this fic!**


	9. Chapter 9

After a time it had become clear to Molly that there would be no headway without actually taking another step. She knew that in order to really understand what had happened to these women she had to begin investigating. And while it was somewhat tempting to just tell Lestrade what had happened and be done with the whole thing, Molly knew Irene and the other women were counting on her to make sure everything was solved.

Which left her with one option.

She had found it much easier than she'd initially expected. After all, Lestrade could be entirely oblivious at the best of times.

She'd had a good excuse too. He had another case he needed information on. Molly had snatched the information from Anderson's hand as he mentioned sending someone to deliver it, saying instead she'd take it herself. He'd blinked at her in some amount of surprise, but had soon scurried off to his work again.

Which left her with the perfect opportunity to slip into Scotland Yard.

Lestrade had been delighted by her findings on his other case.

"Well at least that's one we can wrap up," he said. "Unlike all these women's bodies. Be warned, Hooper, I've heard there may be another one sometime soon."

All the more reason her deception was necessary.

"Of course," she said. "Glad to be of help."

She left him with his new clues before turning to a back room. She did her best to act nonchalant even as her heart raced.

A few other officers passed her, chatting pleasantly. She kept her gaze focused away from them, looking down at a few stray papers in her hands.

After a few moments the room cleared. She glanced around for anyone watching before snatching what she'd come for and stuffing it into the satchel she'd carried her papers in.

And with that she was off.

Now she had the fruits of her labor on. Molly smoothed her hands nervously over the police uniform, noting how long the sleeves were and realizing she probably should have chosen one with more care. Then again, it was unlikely that any officer would be as small as she was.

Still, the disguise would serve its purpose.

Molly wrapped twice on the door, readying herself for all the things she knew she'd need to say.

A maid answered.

"I need to speak with Mr. Lancaster please," Molly said in a stern voice. "I'm Detective Lestrade and I'm hoping to have a word with him."

"Right away, sir," the maid said, ushering him in. "May I ask what this is about?"

"The death of his sister Mrs. Bethney," Molly said.

It had taken a little digging to learn about her family. But she'd learned the woman was widowed, which left her nearest relative a brother who also lived in London.

Part of Molly had known that she should turn the information over. But she was also aware that this was still her case. And she had to solve it for Irene's sake...well and other women too of course. But her thoughts kept turning to The Woman standing in her bedroom…asking her to figure it out…

Molly shook off the image and turned back to the maid who had motioned her into the drawing room. She glanced at the man who she knew had to be Mr. Lancaster. But he was not alone. She froze in her steps.

"I'm surprised Scotland Yard decided to send someone over," Mr. Lancaster said, "seeing as Sherlock Holmes himself is already here. But by all means, come in. Perhaps this will save me some time in only needing to answer the same questions once."

"By all means," Sherlock said with a smirk as he eyed Molly.

"Yes," Molly said, swallowing down her fear as she approached.

Dr. Watson was staring at her. She sensed some anxiety in him, perhaps in knowing that this meant she had not abandoned all contact with Irene Adler. Holmes in the meantime was scanning her over.

"Have a seat, inspector," Sherlock said in a low voice. "Perhaps we will be able to help one another."

"Anything to help figure out who killed my sister," Lancaster said, taking another swallow of whisky before slouching in his seat. "I still cannot believe she's dead."

Molly did sit down, even as she kept her eyes fixed on Holmes. What unfortunate luck to be caught in the act.

"I wonder if you have any idea if she had enemies," Molly asked Lancaster.

"Enemies?" the man said with a snort. "She was a suffragist. Of course she bloody well had enemies. Prancing about at the rallies. Getting her name in the paper. I warned her to be careful. I knew nothing good would come out of her idiotic fantasies. But no, she was persistent if nothing else. I'm afraid I have no specific names for you. Merely the knowledge that she would indeed have people who hated her."

"Is there any reason she would have been in Whitechapel?" Molly asked. "Where the body was discovered?"

Holmes rolled his eyes. "Clearly the body was moved after the fact."

"Not that I am aware of," Lancaster said, ignoring Holmes. "But then again, she didn't always tell me of her various projects and silly ideas. She knew how much I disapproved."

"She wasn't connected with anything criminal that you know of," Holmes stated. "Beyond fighting for women's votes?"

Lancaster's eyes shifted to the floor. "I am not sure. But I was never as close to her as I should have been."

"Is there someone else we could speak to?" Holmes asked. "Do you know who her lover was?"

Watson snorted. "A lover, Holmes?"

"Certainly," he said, eyes flashing. "A widowed woman who loved her husband who had the portraits of him removed?"

"Perhaps she was merely too grieved," Watson remarked.

"Hardly," Holmes said. "It's been ten years since her husband died. The portraits were removed in the last six months based on the fading of the wallpaper in her home. Have you seen the home yet, Lestrade?"

Molly jumped at the fake name. "No. I...I hadn't been given a chance to see it yet."

"Nor will you at your slow pace," Holmes said. "Really Lestrade, you ought to let me handle this matter. I had told you I'd do a better job of it."

Molly found herself flushing. If Lancaster weren't across from her she'd have struck a blow at the insufferable man.

"Either way, the conclusion is obvious," Holmes said. "A lover. A recent one by the looks of thing. No woman puts up with ten years of grieving being reminded of her husband's death only to decide after so long to put the portraits away. Not grief, Watson. Guilt. Obvious guilt."

Molly flushed at his tone, noting his gaze seemed to linger on her.

"Perhaps," Lancaster said, though his brow had furrowed. "If she had one I had not heard a thing of it. Though again, it is quite possible she was keeping her secrets. I cannot know for certain."

"No indeed," Holmes said, suddenly rising to his feet. "Well, I think you've provided the little help you can. We will proceed with what we have."

"Thank you for your time," Dr. Watson said.

Molly had a longing to stay and ask further questions, though she did realize Holmes was right and that there was little more the brother could add. And beyond that, she also recognized that Holmes already was suspicious and to linger would only arouse that further.

"Thank you," Molly added as she rose and went to the door.

Holmes met her out on the doorstep.

"Now then, Lestrade, perhaps you'd care to clarify why you're determined to set the police against you?"

"I'll return it when I'm finished," Molly said with a sniff. "And that is really none of your business anyways."

Holmes gave a wry smile. "And here I thought this was the case I'd begun working. How foolish of me to think so."

Watson was shifting nervously, glancing around the street.

"I have my own business," Molly said. "And I would think you wouldn't be so insecure as to believe that you somehow need to know how far I've made it on the case. After all, if you're the great detective you claim to be you should be further along than I am."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"The fact that you're here? Curious of course, but no matter. It really was simple. She had no wedding ring yet was clean and well-dressed, obvious wealth shown in her clothing and jewelry. Spinster? Perhaps. But unlikely at her age. Widow then. I knew that would be trickier as she might live alone, but even so a woman of her status would have a household staff that would miss her. And from there I easily tracked down Lancaster. Now how did you find him, Hooper?"

"That is none of your concern," Molly said. "I'll be going now, Holmes. Good day."

Before she could turn away he had his hand on her arm. She jerked slightly, but it did nothing to loosen the tight grip his long fingers had made around her forearm.

"Come talk with me, Hooper. Just a few minutes."

Molly swallowed.

"Come," Holmes said. "We can come to some sort of arrangement. It has been awhile since we've talked, hasn't it?"

Molly sighed. It had been quite some time. Before knowing the truth Holmes had occasionally remained in the mortuary to discuss various things with her. She'd found the company pleasant at first. Later it had been quite...pleasurable. She remembered beginning to cling to the hope that maybe an intelligent and modern man like Sherlock would think her the right type of woman. That he wouldn't mind her own smarts and stubbornness. That unlike Thomas...oh Thomas...he would let her be herself. Not try to smother her up in the roles of domesticity.

But instead, Molly had been left to realize he didn't. Want her that was. And in many ways she'd begun to lose hope. No one would want her now. Her aunt was right. Any good qualities she possessed were...tainted by her peculiarities.

"I don't think there's much to talk about," Molly said.

"And have you found out who the maid is yet?" Holmes asked, eyes flashing. "This is not just for my benefit. I would prefer to give you the information I have. After that, you might be free to pursue further investigation. You have a unique advantage in this matter that I do not possess."

Molly frowned. "And what is that?"

"You, Hooper, are a woman. And in these murders I suspect that your knowledge will play a far greater role than anything I could bring to the table," Holmes said. "So please, come back to the flat and we'll talk."

Dr. Watson stepped forward. "I need to meet Mary. But I will be back later tonight to see if we can't make some progress. All right, Holmes?"

"Fine," Sherlock said, even as his gaze never left Molly. "Now Hooper, if you wouldn't mind calling a cab. We'll stop by Scotland Yard to return the clothes. With me you'll at least have the excuse that I took them. I've been known to borrow Lestrade's own set when he's irritating."

Molly had to fight hard to restrain a smile. She had heard such before, mostly from Lestrade's own complaints about the consulting detective.

"Very well," she said. "But I hope you'll know I do not intend to share anything I've learned with you. It's an important matter...and I cannot risk it."

Holmes nodded. "We will work through this. But come. Time is short."

Holmes was busy waving down a cab. Molly frowned, but did step forward into the carriage with him.

The entire affair was awkward. Stopping to allow her to change into other clothes. Holmes told her to make herself comfortable. She slipped into a dress. The ride itself was trying, sitting so close to Holmes and knowing that in any other circumstance this might be intimate...sharing a cab with an unmarried man. She'd long since given up ideas about propriety, but still as his hand slid onto one of hers she wondered at the strangeness.

Holmes led her graciously upstairs to his flat. Molly had a moment to look around before he closed the door.

"I have wanted to do this for some time," Sherlock said in a low voice. "You have been evading me too well, Miss Hooper."

"You needn't lay on a title now," Molly said sitting on the settee and wondering if they might be long enough that she could ask him for tea. "We've known each other too long for it. I cannot abide the idea of calling you Mr. Holmes."

"Then try Sherlock," he amended, with something of a hint of a smile.

"That requires you to call me Molly in turn," she said, even as her heart began to beat faster.

"Molly then," he said calmly. "I'd love to share the details of the case with you, Molly. In fact, I think this might be the perfect time to give a...proposal...I've been working on it for quite some time."

She blinked for a moment, struck by his choice of words. "Proposal?" she said, clearing her throat as she feared her words might come out as a squeak.

"Indeed."

Sherlock paced closer and then came to sit beside her, leg almost touching hers. She felt suddenly too warm.

"You are a very impressive detective, Molly. Dr. Watson has been fading out of my life. He has begun spending more time with Mary, and in his absence I find myself desiring a new partner. I would love to offer it to you, were you willing."

Molly stared at him for a moment, breath caught in her throat. To become a _partner_ with him was an incredible thought. She let out something of a sigh.

"I...I would be honored," she managed.

"Good," Holmes said with a nod. He was studying her. "I do so admire you, Molly. I'm delighted that you have come to this decision."

"I admire you too," she said, though again she couldn't imagine her tone as anything completely dignified. If Sherlock noticed, he paid it no mind.

His hand was curling in hers, and Molly found herself feeling a bit heady. She might have thought it drunkenness had she actually had anything alcoholic to drink in the last hour. But indeed, she was thoroughly sober, merely struck dumb by the sight of Sherlock's digits intertwined with her own.

"You look so much lovelier like this," Sherlock said, brushing his free hand over her face. "Free of all the theatrics. I forget sometimes you are a woman. I was fooled for so long by your brilliant acting. And now...I'm quite...captivated by the sight of you."

Molly gasped, especially as his hand caught her chin and pulled her closer.

She wasn't a stranger to kisses. She'd been proper only in the respect of never opening her legs to anyone. But kissing...she'd always had a weakness for it.

But it had been long enough since her last that the soft press of Sherlock's lips to her own had her unable to breathe, caught in his hands and mouth and frozen in place.

There was a long moment before he pulled away. His colorful eyes gazed into hers, searching for her apprehension perhaps before he pressed back in.

This time his other hand pressed to her bosom. Molly jerked, but found herself unable to protest. Heat was building within her, making a path downwards. She didn't know how she had lasted so long without this.

"Molly," Sherlock murmured against her lips.

And then she found herself being pushed back onto the settee.

His hand moved lower, brushing over her stomach and then onto her hip. Molly had a few seconds to make her decision.

She let it continue.

Sherlock groaned into her mouth. She felt him shifting over top of her.

Her mind was reeling. She knew she cared deeply for Sherlock. She also had often been told he was not the type of man to marry. Too often people had mocked her for her devotion to him. And now here he was proving just how much that devotion had actually meant. But Molly was well aware a ring likely would never come after this.

Still, she'd run from a ring before. Perhaps it was better this way. Letting Sherlock have her with the knowledge that he didn't need anything else.

After all, in her current situation no one cared if she was deflowered or not.

She sighed and allowed his hand to wander, pushing her skirt a little further up.

"Molly," he breathed again. "Promise you'll tell me everything."

It was like the spell had broken.

Molly pushed him away, immediately reaching for her skirt to slide it back down into proper place, gasping as she realized.

She'd been a fool. It was obvious in a matter of seconds that everyone had been right. She was an idiot to assume that Sherlock Holmes could ever love her.

"Get away from me," she gasped, standing and moving back a few steps.

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his temple. "And here I thought that would work. Perhaps I misread. I never can quite get a read on you, Hooper. It's why I must know what you're up to. I fear deception from you."

"Sherlock Holmes afraid?" Molly hissed, still trying to smooth out the various wrinkles in her dress. "Never."

His gaze met hers. "Afraid of a woman who has consorted with Moriarty, run a secret army of women, and now is taking to disguising herself as a detective in order to pursue a case she'll tell me nothing else about. Do you expect trust from me?"

He knew about Moriarty? Her heart sank. She'd somehow hoped he'd never found out about that. But then again, it wasn't impossible that he knew. After all, James hadn't always been quiet when talking to Sherlock about himself and his exploits.

"Come," Sherlock said. "Tell me, Hooper. You're in over your head and I can already sense it. Can't you?"

"I'm only in over my head because you cannot see me in the same light as a man," Molly snapped.

"I cannot allow this to continue," Holmes said. "Watson convinced me to put you back on the case. I believe that might have been an error on my part, trusting his judgement. But I cannot allow you to continue to work without me."

Molly stiffened and drew even further away.

"I won't," she said. "If you cannot trust me with this, then there is nothing I can do to help you. Perhaps that should just make us enemies. I suppose I always figured it would come to this point."

He stood and stepped towards her. Molly knew this was the moment she should simply flee. Before it became any more unbearable. But for some reason she found herself frozen, body stiff and unmoving as Sherlock dragged a finger over her cheek, hand catching her chin lightly.

She trembled involuntarily at the touch. Her breath came in a shaky gasp as his mouth neared hers again. Why did he need to test her so?

"You are too good to be an enemy," he murmured. "You needn't do this, Molly. Surely you can be reasonable."

"I'm reasonable enough," Molly said, pushing his hand from her person and moving towards the door. "I know reason, Sherlock. As surely as I live and breathe I know it. And I'm aware that this cannot continue. I'm not on your side if that side means I must tell you my every action."

Sherlock straightened some, still staring at her with calculating eyes.

"I know there is something," he said calmly. "You never went this far for Moriarty. But something…I will figure it out, Molly."

She hissed and clenched her fists. "It is my sex, Sherlock. That is the only factor standing between us at this moment. If it were Watson you might allow him his secrets. You pretend trust, but in reality there is none where we are concerned. And if you _ever_ seek to touch me without my permission again…do not forget I've dueled as a man before too. I'm not a meek little maiden for you to trifle with. And you'd do well to remember that."

She slammed the door behind her, putting everything in her power into focusing on the stairs rather than looking back. She'd been a fool to think his affections possible.

Mrs. Hudson peeked around the corner, but apparently she thought better of talking to Molly. And so her journey out onto the street to hail a cab was uninterrupted.

"I'll never find anyone to love me," she whispered as she drove. She closed her eyes, not allowing any tears to fall.

It was temping to allow emotion to take over. But Molly knew she must maintain a clear head. There were more important things in life than love she supposed.

* * *

She slipped in through the door, managing to pass Mrs. Brownlow's without causing any disturbance. But instead of going up to her own flat she knocked on Janine's door.

The woman opened it and motioned her inside.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I…" Molly sighed. There were obviously elements to her tale that were impossible to tell Janine, but she nonetheless did want to share what she could. "Sherlock Holmes attempted to seduce me. He nearly succeeded."

"Seduce you?" Janine said, raising an eyebrow.

"We might have been alone at his flat," Molly admitted, flushing a little. "We kissed. And then… I didn't allow it to go any further than a little touching while clothed. I realized, of course, that he was only after information. Only using me…"

"Men are idiots," Janine whispered. "But I suppose… you'll leave him alone now?"

Molly sighed. "I suppose I must."

Janine gazed at her, dark eyes moving questioningly over her face. "I…I had thought to keep this from you, but I think it's time you knew…Sherlock courted me for a time."

Molly looked up astonished. "What?"

"Two years ago," Janine murmured. "I knew, of course, that you were interested in him. But I bumped into him on the street…and…well he began to call upon me. I was always careful to make sure you wouldn't see. I…I feared it might offend you to know of it. And then…well one night he pulled out a ring."

Molly struggled to breathe.

"I said yes…" Janine flushed. "I know it was foolish. Truly it was you know. A few days later it became apparent he'd only done so to gain information on my employer. I of course made a point of getting my revenge. That article published in the Courier was a result of my divulgences of intimate information I'd learned about him in our time together. It paid quite nicely too. I'm well rid of him, not too heartbroken. But I knew that I probably should have told you about it."

There was a moment where she attempted to find the words to express herself. But it quickly became apparent that she had nothing to say. There were no words to explain how horrified she was by the thought of Janine with Sherlock. Beyond the fact that Holmes had been using her, Molly did feel some mistrust in her friend.

"I'm so sorry," Janine said again. "For not telling you earlier. I should have denied him, I know. But…you must understand…how little attention I've had."

"For no reason," Molly sighed. "You're lovely, Janine. You'll find a husband someday."

"I do hope so," Janine said. "At least one I like. Not like the awful fellows my parents always tried to force upon me."

Molly thought of Thomas again. It had been so long since she'd really considered that relationship in depth. And now wasn't the time for it anyways.

"I'm done with Holmes," she said with a sigh at last. "I cannot love a man who…who does those things to me and my friends."

"You deserve so much better," Janine said, laying a hand on top of Molly's. "Never you fear. Someone better will come along, I'm sure. Why I'd wager there's someone out there who'll love you in all your strangeness…trousers and all."

"I do hope so," Molly sighed, moving to hug her friend. "But let's just agree for the moment to never allow another man between us."

"Never," Janine agreed. She tightened her hold ever so slightly. Molly sighed and closed her eyes for a moment. Well if nothing else, she could be grateful for friends.

* * *

If she'd felt there were enough surprises for the week, Molly had yet another when she returned to the morgue the next morning.

She was walking down the corridor when a hand snagged her wrist. She was only thankful she refrained from screaming, letting out a startled gasp instead as she was pulled into a small supply cupboard to the side.

"Hooper," Irene Adler purred as they stood face to face.

"What are you doing here?" Molly said, struggling to try to free her hand from the tight grip on her arm. She stared down at the long fingers curled around her small wrist.

"I had to come see you," Irene said, moving just a centimeter closer. "I'm afraid I couldn't stay away, Miles…in spite of the danger."

"Why?" Molly managed to ask, doing her best to back up, finding herself against the wall before she could really escape.

Even in the gloom of the cupboard she could make out Irene's lovely gray eyes shining.

"Oh my dear dear Hooper, you have so much to learn," Irene said, smiling all the same. "I'm afraid that while I would like to find my would-be killer, I do like a touch of danger every now and then. It makes things… _exciting_. Don't you think?"

"I think that you need to let me out of the cupboard," Molly whispered, noting that if Irene took another step closer they'd likely be chest to chest. She knew that her bindings only did so much to hide her bosom.

"I think," Irene said, moving her face closer even as her feet remained where they were, "that you need to relax a little, Miles. I know a few ways to make that happen of course. But being a doctor perhaps you know something about the body's responses to copulation."

Molly felt a flush moving up her neck. A tendril of warmth curled inside of her, ready to unfurl at a moment's notice. She shivered, thinking back to Sherlock and her reactions to him. But this was…a woman?

She was more educated than most of her sex might be. Molly thought back to her younger years, devouring her father's collection of books. She'd run into all kinds of vastly inappropriate things. But one that had always remained quite strong in her mind was when she'd scoured through a volume of Greek literature her father had kept on hand. It was there she'd read Sappho for the first time.

Being a young and innocent thing she'd assumed Sappho a man. Someone describing his beautiful women in typical fashion, glorifying their beauty and grace. But later that evening her father had asked which poet she'd liked the best. And upon declaring she'd liked Sappho best, she'd seen his face crinkle in amusement.

"Why, of course my daughter would like a fellow woman's works best," he'd said with a smile.

"A woman!" Molly had said, surprised.

"Of course," her father had replied. "Sappho was a woman. You can't have imagined her a man, surely?"

Molly remembered her flush and her admission that she had indeed assumed Sappho to be of the stronger sex. Her father had turned a bit uncomfortable himself, perhaps remembering then what Sappho's poetry consisted of and realizing the implications.

"Well, I hate to keep you under complete darkness," her father had said thoughtfully. "But I suppose you need only know there are…men and women who do not have natural thoughts…I suppose you must know some of the ways of the world by now…but there are those who…"

Her aunt had kept it from going any further. "That is quite enough, Miles. The girl doesn't need to understand any of that. She'll have a husband one day. That's all there is to know."

As a woman, Molly had realized where the discomfort had stemmed from. She now knew that there were indeed those whose desires did not lie in the opposite sex.

And as Molly looked at Irene now she remembered back to her days in Huntingdon, watching Jillian Michaels riding in the fields, blonde curls bouncing against her lithe shoulders, plump lips curving in a smile. Sometimes her skirt would ride scandalously up an ankle, and Molly would stare.

She'd tried to bury those thoughts. Destroy them. After all, she'd liked Thomas well enough other than his desire to keep her as a housewife. And James had attracted her too in a different way. And Holmes…

Still, with one of Irene's hands on her arm and the other coming up to brush against her face, Molly was all too aware of the implications of what she was feeling.

 _She's a woman_ , she thought again to herself. _God help me, I cannot allow this_.

Still, she didn't make a sound as Irene leaned in and brushed her lips against Molly's cheek. Warm soft flesh pressing against hers, brushing lightly.

For a moment Molly thought her heart might stop beating. The pleasure curled tighter. She swallowed.

"There's a good boy," Irene cooed, breaking the spell.

Molly managed to disengage the hand on hers. She pulled away, opening the cupboard door again.

"What do you want, Miss Adler?" she asked.

"Only to talk to you more about the case," Irene said.

"It's slow," Molly said. "I've made little progress on my own. I'm trying to piece together what I can…but to be honest I think Holmes or the police will likely solve it before me."

"Holmes is still set on this?"

Her eyes flashed, and Molly watched her take a step back.

"Yes," Molly said. "Quite. He…" she broke off realizing she couldn't reveal everything of what he'd done. "He has made a point of trying to get information out of me. He's quite set on finding the answers himself."

Irene rolled her eyes. "He always is. But there are things even Sherlock Holmes cannot solve. I trust you, Hooper. You'll figure it out. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like it if I did a few things to throw him off the scent."

Molly froze and looked at her. "How?"

"A woman doesn't need to explain her secrets," Irene said with a mysterious smile. "Now, are you willing or not?"

"As long as he remains unharmed, yes," Molly said. "Now, if you're quite finished I must get back to my work."

Irene smirked and ran a teasing finger along the edge of her jaw. "Then we'll save the pleasantries for later. Until then, _Miles_."

Molly watched as she turned and stalked out of the room. She did her best not to eye Irene's hips as she walked, forcing her eyes back to the wall instead.

Once she was alone she slumped against the cupboard wall for a moment, closing her eyes to regain her composure. It had been a trying week indeed.

After a moment she allowed her eyes to open once more and stepped out of the cupboard. She squared her shoulders, doing her best to focus on the realities. After all, this charade had likely only added to her confusion. But Molly was certain that she was no immoral creature like Sappho.

And besides, she was comforted by one particular thought that made the problem seem quite irrelevant: Irene Adler only liked her as a man.

* * *

 **A/N: Oh poor darling Molly. I thought about including an Irene section but I figured it would get too long. I'll probably have one next chapter instead.**

 **Sorry for the long break in updates. Life has been crazy lately! Still planning on finishing this fic don't you worry!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Decided to bump the rating up to M just to be safe. Nothing super explicit, but I want to be careful.**

The plan really hadn't taken all that much effort to execute. Irene smirked as she beheld her work. In the small parlor were gathered a dozen women. Her web of connections had only continued growing over the last few years. And now was a time she appreciated that more than ever.

"So, it's simple really," she explained. "All I require of each of you is that you go and ask for the assistance of Sherlock Holmes. Each of you has been given the description of your 'case' and you must memorize these details as carefully as possible. Once you have, go and inquire after the detective."

A pale and pretty girl blinked up at her questioningly. Irene licked her lips as the girl bent forward, displaying a pale cleavage to Irene's wandering eye. She was much tempted to again sample the fine flavors of the delicious girl in front of her. However, an image of Hooper's passion-filled brown eyes suddenly made her pause.

"Yes?" she said, doing her best to pull herself back into a more restrained state.

"Miss Adler, mightn't this be a problem with how perceptive the good detective is?"

She fluttered her long lashes. Irene might have thought the seduction was intentional, if she didn't know the girl all too well.

"No," Irene said. "Your stories will lead to various scenarios that will be undeniably intriguing to the detective. A few of you might be detected, but I believe most of the stories I've selected are close enough to the truth to not arouse suspicion."

"And why are we doing this, Miss Adler?" the girl asked.

"Because, _sweetling_ , I have a bone to pick with the detective."

"Oh," the girl said, blinking a few times. "That makes sense I suppose."

"Good. Then we are in agreement. I thank you all for your help. If you have any problems, do not hesitate to contact me," Irene said.

The group of women rose and filed out. One or two stopped to say a few words to her. However, Irene's attention was drawn back to the pretty blonde thing that was still draped over the settee.

"Did you need something else?" Irene asked. "Or are you perhaps confused by the instructions?"

"No," the girl said. "I'd heard….I'd heard Kate is no longer with us."

She reached out to put a hand on Irene's arm, fingers moving over the skin gently. Irene found herself shuddering in spite of her body's obvious interest.

"I could help you feel a little less…lonely…" the girl whispered.

She stood and moved a few centimeters closer, nose almost brushing against Irene's cheek.

It was utter temptation. A beautiful and welcoming woman, ready to accept her advances. In any other circumstance she would have given in. No commitments with another woman to hold her back.

But even if there were no formal commitments, there was still a feeling of loyalty to Molly.

What had the girl done to her? To make her so repelled by another woman's touch.

Irene knew already that attraction could be more than just sex. After all, men were fine in terms of their bedroom abilities. But women…women made her feel so much more…complete. So finding a woman who was intelligent and capable…who wasn't afraid of backing away from a challenge. An equal in so many ways. Not like this shallow pretty thing who doted on her every turn. No, Hooper would be a real challenge to win. Something Irene would relish doing.

"I'm afraid," Irene said, pulling back a step, "that I have already found means of easing the loneliness. If you would take to your task I would be grateful. I have no need of any other…services."

"I do wish you'd let me help," the girl said, but she withdrew, seeming to understand.

"I'm afraid...I'm afraid now isn't a time I need any," Irene said. "Or at least with that. Take care of the detective. That's all I ask."

The girl nodded and smiled. "Oh we'll make his life a living hell."

Irene was unable to keep from smiling at that. Oh yes, they certainly would.

* * *

Molly was unable to keep her reactions from showing when Lestrade turned up in her morgue. Though it wasn't he that had caused her to be so distressed, but rather the sheet covered figure that came behind him. From the delicate hand peeking out beneath, Molly soon realized it was a woman.

There was a moment where she realized it could be Irene underneath the sheet. One terrifying minute where her heart stopped.

She stepped forward, hand shaking slightly as she pulled the sheet away.

There was a moment where she scanned the pale features of the corpse. And then she breathed a sigh of relief.

It wasn't Irene.

Another young woman was lying still and pallid, eyes thankfully closed. She looked so young. Molly had to picture herself as a young woman, beginning life in London. Had she ever looked so youthful and at peace?

"I'm afraid she was found an hour ago," Lestrade said. "Is there anything you can tell me just looking her over? Any help would be appreciated. Holmes has given me next to nothing."

Molly frowned. "Holmes hasn't been helping? I thought he was chomping at the bit to get going on this case."

"I'm afraid that he has been rather distracted the last few days," Lestrade admitted. "Apparently he's suddenly been flooded with cases. I don't know all the details, but his clients have been most persistent, and the cases they bring quite puzzling. He's been wrapped up in this business and hasn't been able to give me a single word as to his progress on these murders."

Molly sighed. "This one has similar stab wounds. But they are wider than the ones on some of the other victims. A different blade most likely. I cannot say much more than that without a more thorough analysis. Any idea on her identity yet?"

"She's got to be pretty well-off," Lestrade said. "Based on her jewelry that is."

Molly smiled. "See, why seek after Holmes? You can make your own deductions quite well."

Lestrade snorted at that. "Ah, if only that were true. But far too often it's just impossible without his help. I wish it weren't necessary, but if he solves them I can't really complain. After all, a criminal caught is a benefit to our society, don't you suppose?"

Molly shrugged. "I suppose so."

Her thoughts went back to what Irene had said a few days before. Was this what she'd meant when she said she'd keep Sherlock busy? Well, Molly would have to thank her later. It meant the plan was working, which gave her even more reason to work hard and get ahead of Holmes while she could.

"Please let me know the moment you find out who she is," Molly said. "With so much obvious wealth on her, I cannot imagine she will go undiscovered for very long."

"No," Lestrade said with a sigh. "But I'm afraid the public has begun to demand answers. This many murders...people are beginning to notice. We must catch this fiend before this goes any further."

Molly nodded, wondering what more she could really do to speed up the process. Perhaps she'd been wrong to put Sherlock off of the case. After all, did she really know much more than the only consulting detective?

"Just do what you can for me," Lestrade said. "Oh...and Hooper. Be warned, if I ever catch you stealing a police uniform...I won't be quite so lenient."

Molly swallowed and turned back to her work, only glad Lestrade had decided to not make trouble. Then again, knowing how often Sherlock caused him difficulties, she supposed her own troubles had seemed minor in comparison.

"Good day, Hooper."

He exited the morgue, leaving her to her work. She set in, only hoping a few more clues might be revealed. Gazing down at the face of her victim, she sighed.

"I'll do what I can to help you," she whispered. "I promise."

* * *

What Molly hadn't anticipated came later that evening. She'd been working hard most of the day. Anderson had long since said his goodnights and gone home. The last few workers were slowly trickling out of the building, until Molly found herself the last one there. It wasn't unusual though.

She was just putting the bodies back to rights, cleaning tools and putting them away. Footsteps echoed behind her, causing her to pause.

"Mr. Hooper?"

She turned to see Sally standing in the doorway, blinking a little as she peered in.

"Come in, Miss Donovan," Molly said with a sigh.

"I just...I wanted to come tell you that I finally did find out who the maid was. Are you interested in knowing still?"

Molly perked up. "Really? That's incredible. Who is she?"

"It was difficult," Sally said as she walked further into the room. "She had apparently recently left her employer...but I did find out from the cook that she'd talked to the girl's mother who hadn't seen her recently either. Odd, isn't that? Anyhow, she worked in the Spearing's household."

"Thank you," Molly whispered. "You have no idea how much this helps me. I really needed more."

"It's nothing, sir," Sally said, though she smiled in spite of her modesty.

"Truly, it is," Molly said. "You are a great detective, Sally. And I'm honored to have your help."

"Let me know if there's more I can do," Sally admitted.

"If you can ask around with other maids about this one, that might be helpful," Molly admitted. "I'll try to talk to her employers myself, but there's only so much I can do. And I believe connections you might have could be of good use to you. Will you help me, Sally?"

"I'd love to, sir."

"Good," Molly said. "I could use all the help I can get...I'm afraid I've perhaps bitten off a bit more than I can safely chew on my own."

Sally cocked her head slightly. "And you'd ask me for help, sir? Rather than another man... someone more...professional...more capable and better educated?"

Molly sighed. There was a temptation to reveal herself of course, to show Sally the truth. However, she realized after a moment that it would be unfair. While she could hide her own potential handicap away and pretend to be a man, Sally would never rise above her situation. Never truly. Even disguised as a man her race would set her back.

"I am glad to have help wherever it may come from," Molly admitted. "And you strike me as quite the intelligent young woman, in spite of perhaps lacking a formal education."

"I do my best to read, sir," Sally said. "It helps some."

She thought of her younger self curled up with a book and had to smile.

"It does. Keep studying. Keep dreaming. Never give up. You will make something of yourself one day. I guarantee it."

Sally hesitated a moment before sticking out her hand to take Molly's. She shook it firmly.

"I'll help however I can, sir."

"Hooper or Miles if you please," Molly corrected. "Really, I don't like all the sirs from someone I couldn't solve this case without."

"Hooper," the girl said hesitantly, but she smiled in spite of her obvious confusion. "I'll do my best to find you more information."

"And if you'd talk with the servants of the Bethney family too that would be much appreciated. Can you manage?"

Donovan nodded. "Talking to a few servants? Sure. Simple really. Do you think...you might solve this case before Sherlock Holmes with my help?"

"I do hope so," Molly admitted.

"Good," Donovan said, folding her arms. "I ran into him a few days ago doing an experiment and he was absolutely appalling in terms of his manners. Completely rude. I'd love to show him a thing or two."

"He's rude to everyone," Molly said with a sigh, thinking of the other day and his horrid attempts at seduction.

She still felt ashamed when she thought about it. That she'd been so close to giving everything away, all for a man who didn't even love her. Just wanted to use her for his own advantages. How could she be so stupid? Sherlock and Moriarty and...if she really thought about it Irene too. Everyone wanted to use her. She feared only Thomas had been truly genuine in his affections.

"Well all the same," Sally said. "It'd be nice if someone knocked him down a peg."

Molly smiled. "I quite agree."

* * *

She opened her eyes, startled by the unfamiliar surroundings. She sat up in the bed, startled to find herself in a loose nightgown. Her eyes wandered over a beautifully rich room, rich furniture and filigree in the very wallpaper.

Molly was even more startled by a hand moving along her back. A gentle caress through the thin fabric. She spun to face her bedfellow.

Irene was lying behind her, smiling slightly as she examined Molly.

"You!" Molly gasped.

"Me?" Irene said with a smirk. "Is my Molly so surprised to find me with her? I can never resist you."

Molly shuddered, though she noted the use of her real name and not the male counterpart.

"Oh dearest, did you really think to trick me?" Irene purred. She moved a little closer, and Molly noted for the first time how little the other woman was wearing. Molly managed to gasp, even as a lick of heat tore through her.

"Now, are you going to be a good girl and behave, or do I need to remind you that you're mine again?" Irene asked, one hand moving to curl around her wrist. Molly shuddered.

She moved in and Molly found lips against hers before she could protest.

Irene's lips were so soft. A tongue darted out to taste her, and Molly groaned. She fell quiet beneath that talented mouth, giving in, hand going slack in Irene's grasp.

Irene's fingers had moved beneath the nightgown. Molly failed to protest, only moved as Irene beckoned, allowing the flimsy fabric to be pulled away.

From on top, Irene looked down at her and smirked as she looked over Molly's form.

"My lovely lovely wife," Irene purred into her ear. "Let me remind you how good this can be."

"Wife?" Molly asked, though she was rendered speechless as Irene slid down her body until her face was between Molly's spread legs.

"Wife," Irene whispered, moving to kiss one of Molly's thighs. "My dearest Molly."

If there was more it was lost.

Molly's eyes opened and she sat up, gasping as she looked around her own room.

She glanced to her side where the vision of Irene had lain, but there was only Toby, curled up amongst the sheets and breathing softly. She reached over to scratch his head, grounding herself back in reality with just a touch against his soft fur.

Molly's gaze ran over the room around her, looking for signs that The Woman had really been there.

But instead she found it undisturbed, only a little light streaming through the windows.

Only a dream.

She sank back amongst the pillows, struggling to breathe.

It had felt so real. Irene in her bed, whispering sweet nothings into her ears. Irene kissing her and pulling her nightdress off. Irene between her-

Oh God. She'd really thought such a thing. Molly squeezed her eyes tightly shut. It had been one thing to look at women and think them beautiful. Quite another to dream of such a carnal encounter in such graphic terms. To imagine Irene as a...wife? As though such a thing were possible.

"You're fooling yourself, Molly," she whispered. "Making yourself think you might really be a man. But you aren't. Not truly. Just a very confused and lonely spinster."

She rose without another word, doing her best to forget the burning that still lingered in spite of the dream. There was too much guilt to possibly seek any kind of satisfaction.

Molly dressed, doing her best to keep her breath steady as she did. As she slid her hands over her breast to bind them, flashes of Irene again seemed to haunt her.

Her attention refocused as soon as she was clothed. She needed to be rid of these thoughts. They would get her nowhere. And to Molly there was only one true way to rid herself of something troubling.

She headed out the door, brushing past Mrs. Brownlow and not even bothering to stop at Janine's. She headed down the street, keeping her head bowed low. She didn't look up until she had reached the familiar Cathedral doors.

The church was quiet. A few candles glimmered in the dim chamber, and a few people sat in the pews, but for the most part Molly had no fear in approaching a confessional. She slid in and closed the door. She kept her eyes closed tight as she waited, hoping only to resolve her guilty conscience.

The small window opened though she could still see little through the screen. There was a soft greeting, though Molly could hardly hear it.

"Bless me father for I have sinned," Molly whispered, swallowing down the lump that had seemed to settle in her throat. "My last confession was three weeks ago."

She paused a moment, but as normal the priest did not speak. Gathering her courage she continued.

"I have lied recently," she said. "Quite often actually. To law enforcement and to others. I have become entangled with those of perhaps more dubious morals than my own. I have stolen. And...I have begun to have lustful thoughts for anoth— a woman," she managed to catch herself.

To her surprise the priest spoke. "What kind of lustful thoughts?"

"I...I've been...paying attention to her appearance," Molly said, finding herself flushing. "It had begun quite innocently, simply finding myself attracted to her. She has pressed a bit at a potential...sexual relationship... touching and kissing me. And I...last night I had a dream of the two of us...engaged in carnal relations..."

"What kind of carnal relations?" the voice asked.

"I..." Molly hesitated. "I'm not sure I wish to answer that, father. It was...quite graphic. The two of us in bed. My only consolation was that we were apparently...married."

"Hmm," the voice said again. "And who is this woman you find yourself stumbling for?"

"I..." Molly stammered. "A...she's not exactly of high moral standing, father. I know very little about her other than that she is involved in dealings with some persons of ill repute. But she is lovely...so beautiful and...intelligent. I am quite drawn to her in spite of all my reservations."

There was a laugh and Molly found herself taken aback. The window shut and then there was a noise before the door to her confessional opened. Before Molly could say a word Irene Adler herself was sliding into the small chamber with her.

"How...how did you get here!" Molly gasped.

"I followed you," Irene said with a twinkling smile. "And I'm glad I did, you delectable thing. Having dreams of me then?"

"It wasn't about you," Molly protested, even as Irene slid partway onto her lap. There was no room to really maneuver away from her. The darkness of the small room hid them, and yet Molly still felt horribly exposed.

"Oh really?" the woman said with a smirk. "Then who is this ill-reputed beautiful intelligent woman, that I might challenge her for your attentions. How am I supposed to allow her you when I want you as my own, _Miles_." Her mouth moved against Molly's jaw, whispering the words before sucking softly at Molly's pulse.

"I'm not telling you," Molly said. Getting over her initial shock, red hot anger began to boil beneath the surface. "How dare you take advantage of me like that? In the midst of me trying to cleanse myself."

Irene Adler rolled her eyes. "Cleanse what? Your little guilty conscience for thinking about me, darling? An intelligent man like you thinking there's a God to do that for you? Perhaps it's time someone enlightened you. You needn't worry about such silly old-fashioned things. There are far better ways to forget about guilt. If you'd let me, I'd show you a few."

She slid a hand over Molly's thigh and Molly jerked. It was the last straw.

With the little strength she had, Molly shoved Irene back, pushing her back out of the confessional and managing to disengage herself thoroughly enough to make a dash towards the door.

Irene called after her, but Molly didn't stop.

She didn't pause in her escape, only walked faster the further from the cathedral she went, until she broke into a full run. Molly didn't stop until she was well away, though she couldn't decide in the end if she'd been running because she'd thought she could escape her feeling for Irene, or because she had realized that she in fact _couldn't_ escape.

* * *

She realized just a few minutes later that it had been a blunder. Though normally her plays were so well calculated, Irene did have to admit that the confessional situation had truly been played on a whim. And it had cost her dearly.

Those words had set her pulse spiking, realizing Molly was thinking of her. _Dreaming_ of her. The mere thought sent a shiver up her spine. She'd sat in the darkened confessional room thinking of all the delicious things she'd do to the other woman once she finally had her. And in a moment of lust she'd allowed her desire to cloud her judgement.

"She'll never trust me now," she whispered as she stared after a rapidly disappearing Molly.

But it was true. To invade privacy in such a way as that, and then to mock the rights Molly had been seeking... she should have realized how poorly such a move would play out. Yet in the moment she'd only been thinking of Molly. Imagining those brown eyes blown wide with lust, picturing that short hair grown long enough to thread her fingers through it, a dress in place of the ridiculous trousers, one she might easily lift the hem of to find her desire.

Yes Irene had been a fool not to realize. Not to see the crucifix in Molly's chambers and realize its meaning. Desire might be there, but it was buried behind deep reservations, and Irene knew that mockery and cruelty were not the ways to undo such teachings.

"Just give me a second chance," she whispered, and somehow she found herself looking at the cathedral. "I don't personally believe. But Molly does. And if you love her, you'll want her happy. I can give her that. Please. Help me show her it doesn't have to be like this."

Irene paused, unsure if she should end it as a typical prayer might. But instead she fell silent. No. Better to not offend any gods any more than she already probably had. In the meantime she'd forget divine figures in favor of finding her own earthly angel. Before it was all too late.

* * *

 **A/N: By the way, if anyone else wants another Victorian lesbian story (non-fandom) you should check out Affinity by Sarah Waters. Read it a bit ago and really liked it!**

 **Sorry for the wait on an update. Hope you enjoyed that in spite of the fake out with the dream. Some real things will come in future chapters, but for now it's still a bit of a slow burn.**

 **Loving all the reviews so thank you for that!**


	11. Chapter 11

It took some time for Molly to pull herself back together again. A few days in order to straighten out her thoughts and create a sense of peace. She locked her doors and barricaded herself within her bedchamber and didn't come out for anything. Her only consolation was that The Woman made no further attempts to contact her. Small comforts she supposed.

Still, there was only so much time she could take. Molly knew this was the case, and as she managed to drag herself from her rooms that morning, she did her best to logically turn over the events of a few days prior.

It was understandable what had happened. After all, Dr. Watson had warned her of The Woman's ways. Molly had known from the beginning what type of seductress she could be, great enough to even make a fool of Sherlock Holmes.

But that still didn't settle the ache in Molly's chest as she began dressing. Perhaps she'd hoped things were somehow different. She'd been a fool to assume they could be. It was time to leave these reckless hopes behind, and she knew it. To attempt anything further with Irene Adler was a fool's errand.

"You must consider all the issues, Molly," she whispered into the looking glass. "First you're a woman. She'd be repulsed if she knew. And if she did she might use the knowledge against you. She's quite well-versed in blackmail after all. Even if she somehow was of…that persuasion…" she didn't dare actually use the word. "Even if she was…it would be _wrong_. You're not really a man. And you shouldn't pretend otherwise."

She straightened her tie and stood stalk still for a moment, looking herself over. She looked slightly more haggard than normal. Still, she needed to proceed.

No more hiding.

Molly had to deal with a worried Mrs. Brownlow, and Janine when she finally exited her flat. Janine was all but staring at her.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked. "You didn't even stop by my flat."

"I was ill," Molly said. "I'm much better now. But I'm afraid with all the work I've missed I must be off."

"Perhaps a little breakfast would make you feel better, dear," Mrs. Brownlow said, wringing her hands. "I could cook you up a little something."

"No thank you, Mrs. Brownlow," Molly said doing her best to smile. "I am a good deal better already, thank you. And I suspect, at the moment, some work and fresh air will be the best of medicines. Good day."

She scuttled out the door before either could say another word. Janine would require answers later of course, but for now Molly needed to save her strength. After all, she had something much more important to do.

The Spearing's household was not difficult to find. They were a well-to-do family in a nice neighborhood of London. Form the little Molly had been able to find about them, Mr. Spearing was a banker, and as such had a lovely and respectable home.

She swallowed down her nervousness and knocked upon the door.

A butler answered.

"How may I help you, sir?"

"I'm here to speak with Mr. Spearing," Molly said, doing her best to keep her tone even.

"Come in," the man said. "And who shall I say wants to speak with him?"

Molly hesitated a moment, wondering if it was wise to give her real name. "Doctor Hooper," she said at last, deciding it would have to do. Sherlock might find out, but it was worth the risk.

She was led inside, walking down an austere hallway, dimly lit due to several pulled curtains.

"Just a moment," the man said.

He hurried off in the other direction leaving Molly to look around.

There was nothing overly remarkable in the house. A few delicate paintings on the walls and some fine furniture. She glanced at the long staircase, but couldn't get a good view at anything beyond the landing. Just a few closed doors.

A maid scuttled by Molly, and she was only grateful she'd asked Donovan to look into the staff for her. It appeared she'd be getting no answers from them anytime soon.

A throat cleared behind her. She glanced back to see the butler waiting.

"If you'll come this way."

He led her down the hallway. Molly kept trying to peak into other doors, but she saw very little overall. Most of the doors were shut, and the few that weren't held large unoccupied chambers that required more study.

Molly looked up in time to see him open a large oak door. The butler frowned at her before motioning her into the room. She heard the door slam shut behind her, hardly giving her a second to compose herself.

"Doctor Hooper," said a man sitting on one of the sofas. "How can I be of assistance?"

"I'm here to inquire about your former maid," Molly said. "A Miss Delaney."

The man frowned. "She left our employment more than a week ago. I know very little about it, I'm afraid. Why? Whatever is the matter?"

Molly swallowed. "I'm afraid she was discovered dead by the police, sir. I work with them in the morgue. I've come to ask a few questions."

"Why didn't they send an officer instead?" the man asked, brow furrowing.

She had known this might happen. There was so little she could do without being a member of the law-enforcement.

"I am afraid there have been a good number of cases as of late," Molly said. "They are rather tied up at the moment. I am helping out how I can. If I can give them more information it will be helpful."

"I'm afraid I know very little," the man said rubbing his chin. "All I had heard was that Miss Delaney had decided to return home to her family. That was what the butler told me. It is likely she was murdered outside of our employment."

Molly found herself frowning. "When exactly did she hand in her notice?"

"The butler mentioned it to me last Tuesday I believe," the man said. "I noted her absence and questioned him. But it is possible she had given notice prior. I again know very few of the details. Now…if you wouldn't mind I do have other matters to attend to. If the police need further information I suggest they actually take the time to send an officer instead."

She swallowed almost audibly as she realized this was clearly crossing a line. Nonetheless, she pressed on.

"I'm merely concerned with discovering how an innocent woman died," Molly said, even as she rose to her feet. "It is clear to me now that you don't share the same concerns. I shan't bother you again, though I cannot say the say the same for the police. This matter will continue to be investigated. And sir…I'd suggest cooperation in the future, unless you'd like to advertise to the police that you are less than willing to help find the killer…because many might start to assume it's, well, you."

He stared at her, jaw dropping. "Well I never…I…how dare you!'

"It's not hard to tell you were having relations with her," Molly said, allowing her tone to drop into something of a sneer. She channeled every bit of Sherlock that she could into her voice, watching as Spearing's face turned a nasty shade of red.

"That's not…how…I…"

She had clearly struck the right place, though it had merely been a hunch. After all, it wasn't uncommon for men to seek women outside of their wives, and Miss Delaney had indeed been comely.

"I want you out of my house," the man hissed. " _Now_."

She was about to speak once more when the door opened. A woman appeared in the doorway.

"Charles, I'm leaving to go to tea at Mrs. Everdeen's. Is there anything you needed before I go?"

Molly looked up to see a well-dressed lady in the door, a parasol clutched in one hand as the other opened the door a little further. Had she been less distracted, Molly might have been caught up in her obvious beauty, the soft curves beneath the silk dress she was wearing, her dark curls pinned to her head beneath an elegant hat. But as it was, Molly merely spared her a cursory glance.

"I apologize," Mrs. Spearing said. "Am I interrupting?"

"Our maid has been found dead," Mr. Spearing said in a low voice. "Miss Delaney. I'm afraid that Doctor Hooper is here to inquire as to what might have happened leading up to her untimely demise. I told her I know little of the situation with the servants. Perhaps you might be of more help?"

Mrs. Spearing frowned. "I know almost as much as you. My other maid informed me that Miss Delaney had chosen to go home. When I spoke with the butler he confirmed it. I found little to question in what happened. I'm afraid we will be of little help to you, Doctor Hooper."

Molly gave a low bow in her direction. "That's quite all right, madam. I bid you a good day and will be back to the morgue to see if there is anything else I can determine. I'm sure we will know more in time. However, if you think of anything else, do not hesitate to reach me at this address."

She reached into her pocket and found the paper, thrusting it to Mr. Spearing. He took it reluctantly, though Molly could see the civility was only due to his wife's presence in the room.

"Good day," Molly said again as she passed Mrs. Spearing before heading to the door.

Well, the little she knew would have to do for now. Her mind worked over the facts as she walked back towards the morgue. Mr. Spearing had indeed been having an affair with the maid. But beyond that, she could say nothing else.

Molly sighed and closed her eyes. Perhaps this case would all be over soon. After all, she wanted now more than ever to simply disconnect herself. Anything to push Irene Adler from her life once and for all. In a few weeks this might be nothing more than a bad dream. The thought was not entirely comforting, but she clung to it nonetheless.

* * *

Irene was still doing her best to pull herself together after her mistake.

She'd spent a few days considering her next course of action. Irene had watched the morgue and Molly's flat, but she'd seen no signs of the young doctor. Instead, all evidence had pointed to the fact that Molly must have decided to stay at home. The guilt increased upon realizing what this had to mean. To recognize she'd caused so much devastation to the other woman had been truly horrifying.

It had been impossible to resist the pull of temptation. Irene allowed herself to see a few favorite clients to blow off some steam. She thought again of the lovely woman who had offered her services. However, Irene denied telegramming her in fear that she might cross some sort of line. To sleep with another woman outside of a client relationship would be too much intimacy. And at the moment she couldn't stand that.

No. But there was a need to right her wrongs alongside ridding herself of so much frustration. So Irene didn't hesitate when she saw a familiar figure striding through the darkened hallway of the morgue that evening. Her heart beat sped up, breath catching in her throat as she took a step closer.

Molly froze. Her entire frame stiffened, a muscle in her jaw twitching a she took a step backwards.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered in a low tone.

"I came to apologize," Irene managed to say.

She watched as Molly's posture changed slightly, relaxing.

"There is nothing to apologize for," Molly said before moving to pass Irene.

Irene grabbed for Molly's wrist, doing everything in her power to keep from smiling as her fingers managed to curl all the way around the small limb. She should have been able to see it earlier, the fact that Molly was so obviously a woman.

"There is," Irene said. "And I'd appreciate it if you might hear what I have to say."

Molly's eyes flared, and for a moment Irene feared she might pull away.

"It was wrong of me to interrupt your time in the church," Irene whispered. "To listen to your private thoughts, to lie to you, to…attempt to force myself upon you. I ask your forgiveness. I shouldn't have said the things I did. Your faith…I understand it might be important to you."

Molly was silent for a moment. She pulled her hand away, though she didn't move to walk away.

"My mother was a devout Catholic," Molly whispered. "I remember very little about her…but I have sought to honor her in my own faith. I fear in many ways I've failed her."

Irene swallowed. "I don't believe that is possible," she said.

She reached out and tipped Molly's chin upwards ever so slightly, forcing those warm brown eyes to gaze into hers.

"You are a successful doctor. You have done great things, helped solve crimes that might never have been answered for without you. You are amazing. Don't allow yourself to be fooled."

Molly's blinked a little, but her gaze had warmed. Irene found it more difficult to breathe, though she did her best to keep her face impassive.

"I don't want you," Molly whispered. "In spite of my…dreams…I can't…"

Irene tilted her head to the side. "And why would that be?"

Molly shook her head.

Irene watched her, wondering again what the best approach was. For a time she'd thought to simply seduce Molly for the enjoyment. And then it had turned into something more. But now, seeing how Molly had reacted to her privacy being violated, she had to wonder if it was the best approach to simply admit she knew. Would Molly appreciate knowing Irene had gone to Huntingdon to find answers? Or would she be offended by it? It was a risk either way.

Irene's mouth opened, and she decided it was perhaps just better to speak her knowledge.

 _It doesn't matter that you're a woman. In fact, I like it better_ , Irene thought about saying.

"Hooper," Irene began, doing her best to keep her tone steady even as her heart began to beat more rapidly. An image suddenly flew to her mind of Molly kissing her. Molly falling to her knees, beaming up at her.

 _I always knew you'd want me, mistress_ , she'd whisper. _Let me show you how I want you._

"Hooper I need to tell you that I—" she began.

However, before the words could fully form, there was a clatter behind Hooper as the morgue's door swung open.

"Hooper, Anderson said you'd still be here!"

She recognized the voice before she saw the person to whom it belonged. Molly stared at her horrified, obviously realizing the same thing.

"Go," Hooper hissed, "I'll hold him off."

Molly was turning and striding down the corridor before Irene could manage another word. Irene hesitated a moment, wanting only to finally have her confession. It was time to finally admit it. She'd held her secrets for far too long. And at this point she feared they'd only ferment and go sour rather than become any better.

Irene slipped into another doorway, waiting and listening as Hooper appeared again. Except this time she wasn't alone.

"You mustn't overwork yourself, Hooper," Holmes said in a dry tone. "Those dark circles beneath your eyes do your looks little good."

"You have no right to say a thing about my looks," Molly hissed.

Irene smiled. That was the little spitfire she knew so well. It was good to see that Molly didn't let the world's greatest detective treat her so poorly.

"No," Holmes said. "Perhaps not. But I do still wonder what you're doing here at this late hour. Talking to someone?"

"No," Molly said. "Myself being the exception, of course. I sometimes like to talk through a case to find the answers more easily."

"Hmm no," Holmes said.

Irene peeked out slightly, and as expected she saw that familiar knowing gleam in Sherlock's eye.

"Yes," Hooper insisted, folding her arms.

Watson was glancing nervously between the two. "I'm sure it's not—"

"Oh do be quiet," Holmes said, rolling his eyes. "There was another voice. I could make out next to nothing, but I am quite sure I heard someone else. And footsteps too if I'm not mistaken. What are you hiding then, Hooper?"

"None of your business," Molly hissed.

"Then let's see for ourselves shall we?"

Irene stood frozen. She should have known Sherlock might figure something out. She shrank further back into her hiding place, praying Molly's cleverness might give her something.

After a long moment Hooper spoke again. "Fine….fine," she whispered in a resigned tone. "You have caught me in a rather…compromised position, Holmes. I…"

Irene strained to hear, doing her best to keep as silent as possible even as her heart seemed to pound in her ears.

"I…have a man here," Molly whispered. "You must understand, Holmes. I cannot take him home…people would…talk."

Watson gave a nervous chuckle. "Ah you see, Holmes…completely understandable. A _man_ she says."

"So our dear Molly has another suitor, eh?" Holmes said, voice sharp with a sort of sneer Irene found somehow out of character for him. Jealousy perhaps? But then again, she knew Holmes well enough to be aware that someone like Molly would never truly turn his head.

"Not another psychopath I hope?" Holmes said.

"Oh leave off," Watson muttered. "Come Holmes, we can come back at another time. Allow Miss Hooper a little privacy."

"Hmm," Holmes said. "I will for now. But I do wish you'd tell me more about this mystery courter, Hooper. Truly so embarrassing as to need to hide from your friends?"

"You are no friend of mine, Sherlock Holmes," Molly said in a low tone. "At least not now. Not with all this… _nonsense_ lately. And if you don't leave now you never will be again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Let's go, Holmes," Watson said. "There's no reason to tarry. Give Hooper what she wants. We can speak with her more another day."

She heard Holmes step a bit closer and she shrank back into the shadows.

"I'll escort you out, Holmes," Hooper said in a terse tone. "You may speak with me while we walk."

Holmes gave no response, though from the sound of footsteps it became apparent that the three of them must have agreed upon that.

Irene let out a breath and moved out from her hiding place. She moved back towards the morgue itself. It was tempting to linger for Molly there, but she knew better. Holmes might still come snooping about, and she couldn't risk exposure.

So instead she grabbed for a bit of parchment on Molly's work table and scribbled out the information she wanted to leave. She smiled down at her handiwork before heading towards the back exit. With any luck, Molly would be wrapped up in discussion with Holmes. And if she knew anything about the girl, then it would take a while before he could possibly come investigate.

* * *

By the time Molly had digested the information Holmes had given her on another case, she realized that Irene might still be waiting for her.

She didn't know that she could truly forgive the other woman. That moment in the church had brought her back to a stinging reality. That this was The Woman. The one Watson had warned her about. A criminal temptress who seemed intent on having her to bed and likely not for much else.

"Irene?" Molly called as she wandered back into the darkened room. A few candles flickered at her table, but she saw no signs of the woman.

She breathed a sigh, though she couldn't truly decide if it was one of relief or resignation.

However something caught her eye on the table as she walked closer. A small note scribbled out in the corner of a paper.

 _Again I offer my apologies, Hooper. I wish to speak more with you, but it is quite impossible at the moment. If you ever wish to talk you can find me at this address. I hope you will accept my offer. I mean every word and more. Yours, I.A._

She flushed for some reason, even as she admired the softness of the words. Perhaps Irene did truly feel some sense of remorse. Molly clung to that small bit of hope as she pocketed the note.

* * *

In the late hour, Molly floundered to make her way up the staircase in the darkness. She fiddled with her key, attempting to ease it into the lock on sight alone.

After a moment she managed and pushed open the door.

"I'm home Toby," she said.

She closed the door behind her, sighing as she set her umbrella to the side. She rubbed her temple before moving to find a match.

As her hands were scrabbling along the side table, she suddenly noted movement behind her.

"Toby what the hell are you doing?" Molly asked, even as she turned in the darkness, blinking a little as she tried to make out what little she could in only the moonlight.

A shadow was moving closer, and she soon realized it wasn't the cat.

The figure loomed into her vision, moving towards her quickly even as she stumbled back.

"Irene?" Molly whispered, finding herself shuddering in spite of suspecting it might be The Woman.

However, after another second, Molly realized that with all the apologizing Irene had done, she wasn't likely to try to spring herself on Molly a second time. Not so soon anyways.

"Who are you?" she gasped.

Janine maybe? No, even that seemed odd to her. Every hair on her neck was raised as she realized these circumstances couldn't be good.

Something gleamed in the moonlight, and Molly saw the flash of the knife in the intruder's hand. She gasped and pulled further back, grappling for the umbrella she'd just set down a second before.

It took her a second before she had it up and swinging, striking the assailant before the knife could reach her.

Molly turned and darted to the side, striking another blow in passing. There was a grunt and the figure fell back slightly. Molly held the makeshift weapon aloft, daring the figure to come closer.

Before she needed to defend herself again, there was another flurry of motion. The figure suddenly toppled and she heard a yowl as Toby darted in the other direction. She could have smiled at the realization that he had defended her had she not been more concerned with moving back towards the door.

She flung it open and flew down the stairs.

"Janine!" she screamed before she could stop herself. "Janine!'

The door to the flat below hers opened and she was flying into Janine's arms before she could stop herself, not caring that the other woman was still attempting to wrestle on a dressing gown.

"What's going on? Are you all right!"

"Someone...someone tried to murder me," Molly managed to gasp as she began to gather her wits once more. That was it, wasn't it? Someone with a knife lying in wait for her in the darkness. "Someone just tried..."

She couldn't form the words again. Her throat seemed to tighten, making it nearly impossible to breathe. She did her best to ease through the panic, coming back to a more calm and collected state.

There were footsteps on the lower stairs and then Mrs. Brownlow appeared, a blanket wrapped tight around her shoulders. She took in the sight of partially dressed Janine embracing a distraught Molly and frowned.

"Whatever is going on! I was sleeping soundly and then I heard screaming. Is everything all right?"

Molly half suspected she was pleased to find the two of them together. Lord knows she'd seen enough matchmaking attempts over the last few years.

"I'm afraid there was...someone broke into my flat," Molly managed to gasp. She glanced at Mrs. Brownlow. "Did anyone go up there earlier today?"

"No my dear," Mrs. Brownlow said, staring up the stairway. "You're certain it wasn't merely a dream?"

"I was not asleep," Molly protested. "I only arrived home a few moments ago...and...I was attacked. God, I was...I..." She sat down suddenly, causing Janine to gasp and move to kneel beside her.

"It's all right, you're safe," Janine whispered.

"He had to come through the window," Molly said. "If no one came up the stair. I...I don't know how else it could happen."

"Shall I ring the police?" Mrs. Brownlow asked.

"No," Molly whispered. "No... Whoever it was is likely gone by now. But that doesn't...that doesn't make it safe. No... I'll leave for the night."

"But where will you go?" Janine asked.

Molly's hand scrambled for her pocket, managing to find a few coins and knowing she could leave now and possibly find an inn or somewhere else to stay. However, as she did her fingers brushed a small scrap of paper and she froze.

"I know exactly where to go," she told Janine, managing to push herself to her feet. "And everything will be fine." She pulled Janine up as well. "Stay safe."

She hugged her friend and then thanked and apologized to Mrs. Brownlow again before heading down the stairs. Perhaps it was a bit foolish to head out with a murderer out to get her. But Molly was determined to find safety. And if anyone could keep her safe, she knew it had to be the woman who had escaped death more times than one could count.


	12. Chapter 12

Irene was startled by a knock on the door. She set down her copy of _Wuthering Heights_ and stood up. A visitor at this late hour? She grabbed for the revolver she kept in the drawer of her sideboard. With a slow hand she moved to undo the lock.

The knocking came again.

"Irene!" a voice said through the wood. "Please let me in. I know you're there. I can see candlelight beneath the door."

Irene paused and after a moment she smiled.

She opened the door and peered out into the corridor. Sure enough, Molly Hooper stood there, dressed only in her jacket and waistcoat rather than her coat and hat. Odd at such a late hour.

"Come in," she said, noting the woman was obviously alone. Irene slid the gun back into the drawer before motioning Hooper into the room. "What brings you at such a late hour, Hooper?"

"I'm afraid a killer is after me now," Molly hissed, pushing past her. "If you wouldn't mind locking the door."

Irene froze for only a second before she followed the orders. She pushed the door firmly shut, turned the deadbolt and then motioned to the sideboard.

"Here, help me move this. A lock might not do us too much good against a determined killer."

Hooper complied, and with a little pushing and shoving, they managed to move the furniture in front of the door, effectively blocking it.

"So, come sit. Would you like something to drink?"

"Strongest thing you have," Molly muttered, moving to take a seat on the settee. "Is this your place?"

"Bolt hole," Irene said with a tilt of her head. "I do need places to hide when people decide they wish to kill me. And given how often that happens, I'm afraid it's merely a necessity. My actual home is quite a bit more comfortable than this. Perhaps when times are safer I might take you there."

She walked over to the sideboard and fetched a bottle of scotch that she tipped into two glasses.

"I didn't take you for much of a drinker, Hooper," she said.

"I'm not," Hooper admitted. "But I'm afraid a brush with death can change a person."

"Indeed," Irene said, strolling back over and pushing the glass into Hooper's hand. She settled on the other side of the sofa. "So, tell me more. Perhaps I can gain some knowledge from what you witnessed?"

"My room was very dark," Molly said. "But whoever it was came after me with a knife. I'm afraid there is little more I can add."

She tipped her head back and took a large drink of the alcohol, wincing as she swallowed. Irene watched the glass descend again, and she suspected there would be no more drinking from the doctor for the night. Her suspicion was confirmed as Molly let the glass rest on her knee. She took a sip of her own before setting it to the side. A little liquid courage she supposed.

"This is likely quite frightening for you," Irene murmured. "And I don't wish to make this any worse for you, but perhaps now you'd like to talk a little more... I'd like to get to know you, Hooper."

"You apologized," Hooper said, looking up a little. "I don't know that we need to talk more. And to be honest, you know more about me than most people. What else is there to discuss?"

Irene reached out to touch Molly's hand.

"Well...there are things," Irene said.

Molly sighed and drew back. She set the glass down, effectively putting an end to the drinking. Irene watched her eyes flutter shut.

"But perhaps they can wait for another day," Irene said. "Come, let's get to bed. There's no need for you to sleep on the couch when there's a far more comfortable bed waiting."

"Sleep sounds pleasant," Molly said, eyes opening again. "I'd appreciate that, thank you."

Irene smiled and helped her up before leading her back to the bedroom.

"It's not much, but I've done my best to make it a bit more...comfortable. I trust you'll find sleep here easily."

She glanced around the bedchamber, admiring the few personal touches. The solid oak headboard that was perfect for bondage attachment. The lovely silken bedspread and the sheets beneath. A cupboard that hid several of her more...personal affects.

"Yes," Molly said. She shrugged off her coat and laid it over a chair. "And...where will you sleep?" she asked.

"I'll sleep here," Irene said. "The bed is custom made. Quite large, just the way I like it. We'll both have more than enough space."

Molly froze, fingers on the buttons of her waistcoat. She stared at Irene for a moment.

"What?"

"I think it would be perfectly suitable for us to sleep in the same room," Irene said breezily. She undid her dressing gown, revealing the silken nightgown beneath. She smirked as she noted Molly's eyes drifting over, her settling on her breasts for a moment before jerking away. Irene set the garment aside and turned to push the bedcovers down.

"You'll be more comfortable as will I. The settee is murder on the back. And I believe we'd be more secure with one more room between us and a potential killer, don't you think?"

Molly suddenly moved to grab her coat.

"Perhaps this was a mistake."

"Please," Irene said with a sigh. She straightened, but didn't approach Molly for fear of spooking her further. "I won't touch you, Hooper."

Molly looked at her for a long moment. "It still...I don't wish to share a bed. I wish you a good night, Irene. Thank you for attempting to protect me. I'll go stay in the morgue instead I suppose."

"They likely know you work there too," Irene protested. "It's foolish to think you can escape them."

"And you think you can?" Molly hissed. "Am I really any safer here?"

"Yes," Irene said. "Our brains together? We'd be unstoppable. I've been on the run for years. No one has caught me yet."

"Someone came close," Molly said. "I've read Doctor Watson's stories about you."

Irene rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Doctor Watson is...a...prima donna. His stories are melodramatic tall tales at best. I could tell you the true story sometime if you like."

"You're denying you were almost killed?" Molly asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I was," Irene said. "But for very different reasons." She looked the other woman over again. "Please stay. I don't want you getting hurt because of me."

"I'd be getting hurt because of my own need to see a case through," Molly protested. "So with that I bid you a good night."

Irene watched as she headed back towards the door. There was a moment where she knew she had to make a choice. Every second passing was a moment where Molly slipped further away. And with a killer on the loose it might be forever if she actually let her go.

"Stop," Irene said. "Stop Molly."

The other woman's hand froze on the bedroom doorknob. She turned back, brow furrowed, every muscle in her body tense.

"What did you call me?"

"Molly," Irene breathed. It felt so good to finally use the name. Had she not feared Molly's anger she might have smiled.

"How do you know that name?" Molly asked, eyes going wide. "Dear god, how did you...I..." She reached up to touch her chest, likely checking the bindings.

"You needn't worry," Irene murmured, moving closer. She brushed a hand over Molly's wrist before catching her hand. "You've been quite careful. But I'm afraid my curiosity has always gotten the better of me. One day I do think it will get me into trouble. But today I'm only hoping it will help me."

"How did you find out?" Molly whispered.

"I visited your aunt...in Huntingdon. When you advised me to leave for the country," Irene said. "I admit I was...quite surprised."

She reached out and caressed Molly's cheek with her thumb, watching those pretty lashes flutter at the movement. The woman seemed to soften before her, transforming as she realized she no longer had to keep up the appearance of brash and exaggerated masculinity.

"You are indeed curious," Molly said. "To go to such lengths merely to discover my secrets..."

"I suspected there was something about you," Irene said. "I'm afraid you were far too tantalizing to resist, my Molly."

Those warm brown eyes met hers, full of hesitance as she moved to brush at Molly's short curls.

"I don't know what to say," Molly whispered. "Are you going to blackmail me?"

It was tempting. Irene knew it might be the easiest way to convince the other woman to bed her. However, if she did Molly would probably hate her forever.

"I don't wish to," Irene said. "For now all I want is to go to bed. And I believe now that I know your secret you might be persuaded. After all, we are both women. And if it's for appearances sakes...well you must realize being here alone with me already has destroyed any sense of seemliness. Come, sleep in a comfortable bed for tonight. I even have a nightgown I can loan you."

Molly hesitated a moment. She seemed lost in thought. And Irene couldn't blame her. There was, after all, much to consider.

"I'll stay," Molly whispered. "And I will take your nightgown if you'll allow it. I'm afraid these garments would be quite uncomfortable to sleep in."

"Of course," Irene said.

She walked over to the cupboard, opening it and doing her best to ignore the more inappropriate contents. A lick of heat tore through her, but she ignored it, grabbing a simple white garment. Though she was lost enough in her desire that even a plain shift would likely still inspire lust. Irene brushed those thoughts aside and moved back over to pass the dress to Molly.

"Here you are," Irene said.

"I'd like a wash if you'd allow it," Molly whispered.

"Of course," Irene said. She motioned to the bathroom. "Go ahead."

Molly grabbed for the clothing and disappeared without another word. Irene waited until the door had firmly latched before sliding over. She knelt down and peered through the keyhole. She could make out little, but somehow it was still to provide a little relief to her curiosity. She watched as the waistcoat hit the floor. A pair of nude legs appeared a moment later. Irene swallowed and did her best to keep her breathing even, a smile curling on her lips.

She had been right. Even these glimpses of Molly provided information enough to know the woman was truly beautiful. Pale shapely legs. Irene would have to see how they'd look when they were spread. Or perhaps wrapped around her. Oh she had plans for those legs indeed.

Her fantasies were put to an end as the nightshift went on, effectively blocking her view.

She pulled back before she could undo herself by starting to make noise. And if she saw any more, Irene was almost certain she would.

"Is there anything else you need?" Irene called once she was a safe distance from the door.

"No, thank you," Molly said.

The door opened and then the other woman was stepping out. Irene looked up in time to catch her breath, stunned by the sight of Molly robed in white.

The garment was relatively shapeless, but it was translucent enough to show the outlines of her limbs in a way that Irene's imagination was able to fill in many of the gaps.

"Don't you look lovely," Irene murmured.

"Thank you," Molly said, a flush building on her neck and make its way up to her face. "I...it's been some time since I've worn a nightgown... not altogether different from a nightshirt, but I...I like the feminine touches."

Her fingers brushed over a few embroidered flowers on the neck and Irene smiled.

"Indeed. They suit you. It all suits you. You make such a lovely woman."

Molly's eyes met hers. "I miss it at times. If it weren't for the realities of my situation...I might go back to life as a woman. But...unless I were to find the right man...I couldn't."

"Sherlock Holmes perhaps?" Irene suggested, patting the bed next to herself.

"No," Molly shook her head as she sat on the other side of the bed.

Irene swallowed. She was a good meter away, but that still did nothing to dispel the obvious intimacy of climbing into a bed together.

"Not even him. I'd need someone...someone who truly understood me...appreciated me. I have had my chance at marriage and thrown it away."

Irene smiled. "I understand all too well. I was married once you know."

Molly glanced up sharply.

"It was a long time ago," Irene said. "When I was younger. And much more foolish. But it didn't last. Nothing does."

"No," Molly murmured, looking away.

"Come to bed," Irene purred.

Molly pulled her legs in between the sheets before drawing the covers up to her chin. Though Irene was a bit disappointed to bid farewell to the tempting sight, she relished the chance to enter the bed herself, moving closer.

Molly glanced at her for a moment, but she was soon sinking back onto goose feather pillows with a sigh. Irene watched in fascination as those lovely eyes finally closed and Molly's chest began to move more slowly.

"Sleep well," she whispered. "Dream of sweeter things."

With those words she turned her eyes from Molly's form and moved to blow out the candle. She sank into her own spot on the bed and admired the feel of having a bedfellow. The soft breathing. The rustle of movement across from her. A wave of nostalgia for Kate's company drew over her. But in a moment the feelings were extinguished and she simply had the opportunity to remind herself that Molly was worthwhile in and of herself. With those thoughts in mind she allowed herself to sleep.

* * *

Molly opened her eyes. For a moment she thought she was in her own flat. However, as she became more aware of her surroundings she realized the facts. All the events of the night before came back to her.

She sat upright in bed, gasping as she looked towards the windows where the curtains were just barely drawn, a faint ray of light flooding in from the newly risen sun. Were she in her own place she'd have known she was late for work.

But as it was Molly was fairly sure she shouldn't go to work. Not with someone out to kill her.

She glanced at the other side of the bed, startled to find it empty.

"Irene?" she whispered, glancing about.

No sign of the other woman. She shrugged and moved her legs off the bed. Perhaps she should go see where Irene was. She felt a strange sense of fondness for the other woman. Tenfold now that she knew her secret was out and that it wouldn't be used against her. Molly knew all too well what it was to be curious, and Irene's interest had only amused her really.

"Ah, you're awake," a voice from the doorway called.

She turned to see Irene, freshly dressed and bearing a tea tray. Molly felt her heart jump at the sight of Irene in a lovely black gown, hair nicely coiffed, rouge and other paint in place. She looked so incredibly lovely like this. In her natural element. Powerful and poised. Molly had to practically shake herself to keep from staring.

"Good morning," Molly said.

She suddenly realized her state of undress. She had no dressing gown so she settled for moving back beneath the covers.

"You needn't bother," Irene said, setting the tray upon the bed. "I've seen everything in case you'd forgotten."

"It's habit more than anything," Molly admitted even as she was arrested by the sight of tea and bacon and several other delicious breakfast foods. Her stomach rumbled. "Is this for me?"

"Of course," Irene said. "You are my guest, ill equipped as I am to really entertain you. I must ensure you are well taken care of."

Molly smiled and reached for the tea first.

After she'd had a long swallow she looked up to find those stormy eyes on her. She'd grown somewhat used to that piercing gaze...but in this context it was altogether different. She couldn't forget she was wearing only a nightgown and sitting in the other woman's bed.

"So," she whispered, setting the tea aside, not in the mood to fill her stomach until she'd settled it. "It was all teasing then...the seduction? Merely a trick to play with me….since you knew the truth all along."

She felt almost sick at the thought.

"I did enjoy playing with you, mousey," Irene purred, drawing a little closer. "But I can assure you that my tricks were not quite what I suspect you think they were."

Molly met her gaze. "Have you read...have you read any of Sappho?" she whispered.

"Yes," Irene said, licking her lips. "I have."

"Oh," Molly whispered. She squirmed, suddenly all too aware of the growing warmth in her stomach, and not just from the tea. "So...you are...actually...interested?"

"I am," Irene purred.

"I didn't...I... oh," Molly finished lamely.

"Quite," Irene said, leaning in with a smirk, eyes shining brighter by the moment. "Kate was my lover. I'm surprised you hadn't figured that out by now. She lived with me. I took care of her. I do like taking care of someone you see. It's perhaps the one aspect of domesticity that I have somehow retained."

Molly glanced down at the tea tray and flushed.

"Oh."

"Oh indeed," Irene said. "And you, mousey? Did you enjoy Sappho?"

"Yes," Molly said.

"And have you had a female lover before?" Irene asked. "Or has it only been the great Holmes who's had a place between your legs." Those eyes drifted towards the place where her legs were beneath the covers.

Molly gasped and sat up straighter, nearly tipping the tray. "How dare you. I've been engaged. But I've...I've never gone to bed with anyone! Man or woman."

"Oh darling, I was only teasing," Irene said, face alight with mirth. "Your virginity is in your very face."

Molly flushed again. "Oh please. I've read plenty of novels. I'm hardly innocent. Other than in the physical sense. I've never had any lovers, it's true."

"I'm teasing," Irene murmured again, leaning closer. "I do like how you blush so prettily. Perhaps there are other ways to achieve the same results though?"

Molly was half tempted to pull away, but instead she sat still and allowed one of Irene's hands to wander along her nightgown clad arm. Those eyes staring into hers seemed full of fire, brighter somehow than they usually were. Molly swallowed and let herself be moved a little closer, that hand capturing her face to keep her still.

"May I kiss you, Molly Hooper?"

She nodded, unable to find the words as her throat seemed to tighten impossibly.

Irene moved closer and then lips were brushing against hers.

Molly recalled kisses with Thomas. With James. With Sherlock…but for some reason she was able to sweep those memories away in favor of selecting a new perfect kiss. Irene's mouth on hers, a hand tangling into her hair, the other moving to slide along her thigh. She didn't dare protest, only opened herself to the tender caress and drank more deeply from Irene's mouth.

Irene pulled back a little, brushing softer more tender kisses along her jaw and cheek.

"You are so delightfully perfect," Irene purred. "I want you to be mine."

"I…I'd like that," Molly whispered, though she found her mind reeling at the idea. It was odd enough to think of having a lover, let alone another woman.

Their lips met again and Molly surrendered, letting out a miniscule noise as she found herself pushed back onto the bed. Irene's fingers trailed down along her side, and Molly found herself wondering again if she should abandon all of her morals.

 _God forgive me_ , she thought even as she shut her eyes and let herself deepen the kiss a little, breath catching as she began to feel a familiar tingle inside of her, the signs of lust beginning to build.

However, before Molly could truly make her decision, Irene pulled back. She reached for the breakfast tray, moving to set it on the bedside table instead.

Molly waited, half expecting Irene to return to ravishing her now that the food was safe. Instead the other woman took a few deep breaths before moving off the bed.

"As much as I'd love to simply pluck your flower for myself…I think there is time, and as a result we might take this a little more slowly," Irene said, a warm smile growing. She sashayed over to the windows to open the curtains a little wider. "Besides, I promised I'd take care of you. You must eat before anything else. I cannot distract you."

Molly frowned, surprised by the change. From all she knew of The Woman, she'd expected intercourse first and talk later…if at all.

As though sensing her surprise, Irene turned and walked back over, pausing as she reached the bed.

The Woman reached out a hand to tenderly brush a stray lock of hair from Molly's eyes. After a second she took up Molly's hand herself and tenderly kissed the back.

"Enjoy your breakfast," Irene said as she dropped her hand back to its resting spot on the bedspread. "I will be back in an hour or so, darling. But I'm afraid there is much for me to do in the meantime. Don't worry, I won't leave you too long."

Molly was reminded of the speeches she usually made to Toby before she left the apartment and found herself turning red yet again.

"Goodbye," she whispered. She moved to sit up a little more. "I will see you in a bit…um…do you have anything for me to wear? Not that I mind just wandering about the flat in a nightshift but…I'd prefer…"

"Clothes?" Irene said, raising one eyebrow. She smirked even as her gaze drifted down over Molly's form. "If I had my way you'd have none, mousey. But I'm afraid I do want you to be comfortable. Pick anything you'd like from my wardrobe. I'm not quite the same proportions as you, but it should suit you well enough. And I will enjoy the opportunity to see you in a dress for once. It will suit you quite nicely I think."

Molly nodded, doing her best to not appear too embarrassed. She felt so different without her male costume though. Less certain of herself she supposed. It had been too long since she'd spent any great length of time assuming her real self instead of the created one she'd had for so long.

"Back in a bit," Irene said again. "Be good while I'm gone."

The door to the bedroom closed. Molly sighed and settled back amongst the pillows doing her best to keep her heartbeat in check even as it began to gallop in her chest. Did she even have a clue what she was getting herself into?

She forced herself to relax and settled for picking up a piece of toast instead of thinking. She was half tempted to try to think through it all right now. But for the moment… perhaps Irene was right. They had time.

* * *

 **A/N: YES MOLLRENE ACHIEVED! Except not quite…because there's more fic yet. The ride's not over yet. But I hope you enjoyed that step in the relationship! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and supported me!**


	13. Chapter 13

Irene did her best to concentrate as she went about her business for the day. But it was difficult when images of a naked Molly kept appearing. She hoped the girl was waiting for her in bed by the time she got back. But unfortunately she knew there were steps she'd need to take in order to prepare her lovely Molly for any future loving. One couldn't undo years of schooling in traditional and religious morals within a few hours. Unfortunately.

She sighed and turned towards the morgue. Though she hated to cause any more suspicion than necessary, she did feel it was important to make sure Molly's affairs were in order. Honestly, she wished she could lay these silly notions aside, because it would make for a much quicker return to the flat and to bed. But she wanted Molly happy. And with how much this job meant to her, this was likely the best approach.

So she pulled her veil down and continued on her way down to Molly's place of work praying she didn't meet the assassin on her way. Or worse... Sherlock Holmes.

She nearly collided with a girl on the steps. Irene cursed and drew back, giving a glare that softened upon seeing she was actually quite attractive underneath the dirt and grime. Were she not already preoccupied by Molly, she might see if she could coax the little urchin into a quick one across one of the morgue's tables.

"So sorry ma'am," the maid said, dipping into a low curtsy. "I didn't see you there. Are you all right?"

"Fine," Irene said with a sniff, brushing her hand over her dress to wipe away any dirt. "Do you know if Doctor Hooper has an office?"

The girl's brow furrowed. "Er...yes... it's just down that way. But Doctor Hooper isn't in. Hasn't been in yet at all today from the talk I hear."

"No," Irene said carefully. "He's quite ill. I was asked to pick up some papers and things. But I didn't know where to find them. Thank you for your assistance."

"Ill?" the girl said, eyes widening.

"Yes," Irene said.

"Oh dear," the girl said. "And I had some news for him too."

"News?" Irene said, straightening. "What kind of news?"

"Oh," the girl's eyes dropped to the floor. "Nothing mum. Just...a bit of something I found out for a case."

"Well let's have it," Irene said firmly. "I'll pass along the word."

"With all due respect," the girl said, raising her gaze back up to shoot what was nearly a glare at Irene, "I'd rather tell him in person, thanks."

Irene's jaw clenched. While she normally admired a little...backbone, this wasn't the time for stubbornness.

"I'm sure I could make you rethink that offer," she whispered.

"No," the girl said curtly. "I'm sure you couldn't. Good day, mum."

And she was off without another word. Irene smirked and shook her head. Well then, another tricky woman to deal with. But she'd find a way no matter what it took. Or at the very least she'd mention it to Molly and see if the other woman had a solution. In the meantime, she settled for going to the office and sorting through the papers.

It took her awhile to sort through Molly's haphazard organization system. However, after a time, she found what she was looking for. With papers in hand she started on her way back to Molly's flat.

It wasn't difficult to slip past Molly's oblivious landlady. After that it was simply a matter of picking the lock. She sorted through the other woman's various things until she had a bag full of Molly's various personal belongings. It wasn't difficult to decide what to take. After all, while she knew Molly might prefer to wear trousers, she preferred her in dresses. the mere thought of Molly in petticoats and undergarments set her salivating.

However, while the landlady wasn't too troublesome to evade, she did note footsteps behind her as she finished with the undergarments. She had realized she'd need to buy Molly a few more things to really suit her own tastes, but that was understandable given how the woman had been living so much of her life as a man.

She paused and glanced back, catching sight of a figure in the door.

"What are you doing?" the other woman hissed.

Janine, Irene suddenly remembered. That was the little wretch's name. Pretty enough, though she found herself a bit more ruffled by the fact. She knew Molly was close with this...she was almost incapable of finding the right word, too distracted by the thought of being caught.

"I'm finding some things for Molly," she said, hoping that might put an end to it. What better way to prove her loyalty to Hooper than to use the proper first name? After all, Janine had to know at this point, didn't she?

Sure enough the other woman's eyes went wide. "You found out the truth," she whispered her tone a mix of awe and disgust.

"It wasn't altogether difficult," Irene said with a soft snort, grabbing another pair of underwear to add to her growing collection.

"And now you've...forced her into your depraved servitude, is that it?" Janine said, folding her arms. "I won't allow it. And I don't believe she will either, to be perfectly honest. Hooper going quietly?"

"Oh she's not altogether quiet," Irene said with a smirk. "But then again, it is quite difficult when in the throes of la petite mort."

Janine blanched. "She wouldn't."

"Oh darling, she's only human. Too many women pretend they don't care for it," Irene said. "But I know the truth. And when it comes to who can bring them pleasure, most often it's their own sex. Molly has come to find the truth."

Janine pursed her lips and shook her head. "You're holding her against her will. And I will free her from your clutches."

"Oh the brave prince decides to save the princess is it?" Irene said with a smirk. "I'm afraid this dragon is being quite good to her. I don't believe she has any reason to leave just yet."

"We'll see about that," Janine growled. "In the meantime I'll simply say you need to get out. Or I'll call the police. Or perhaps I'll just call Sherlock Holmes instead."

Irene did her best to keep her face impassive. She didn't want that of course, but she couldn't deny the truth might just come out eventually.

"You do what you'd like," Irene said. "I cannot stop you. Is there anything else Molly might like? Especially for holiday? I'm thinking I'll take her somewhere. A little sunshine and some time spent away from work. It would do her good. Not that she'll be leaving my bed for too long, mind you."  
"You're vile," Janine spat.

"Only to those who fail to see my appeals," Irene said. She pushed the drawer closed and stalked over. Janine flinched but otherwise didn't move. Irene ran a finger along the sharp line of her jaw, smirking as she watched those dark eyes fill with hatred.

"Don't you dare lay a finger on her," Janine hissed.

"Hmm I do favor fingers, but perhaps I'll settle for using my tongue instead," Irene said, smirking as she caught the rising blush her words caused. She pulled her hand away, simply allowing her eyes to run over the lines of Janine's body. Anything to cause her to squirm.

"I'm quite serious," Janine said.

"And so am I," Irene said. "I enjoy dear Molly's company. And she enjoys mine. And before you seek to criticize, you should understand the true nature of something." She paused and sighed. "But I can tell my words will do nothing for you. So I bid you a good day."

She bundled together what she had and made for the door. Janine stood frozen, clearly not expecting a retreat. And any other day Irene might have lingered, but she had a pretty lover to get back to and she wasn't ready to give that up just yet.

"Your fall is coming," Janine called as she rounded the corner. "And you will fall hard. I only pray Molly doesn't end up in the damage left over."

Irene froze for a moment, but she did her best to let the words pass over her. She was clever and so was Molly. They would survive this. She knew they would. She'd been through so much worse before.

* * *

As soon as she was on the streets she knew something was wrong. She noted a frenzy on one of the main thoroughfares. People were scattering, talk was flying freely, some in whispers amongst one another while others raised their voices as they neared a level of hysteria.

"What's going on?" Irene muttered half to herself, watching in confusion and wondering whatever could be the matter. She caught sight of a familiar man waiting to the side. A client. At any other time, she might have attempted to coax him into another session. He almost always had valuable information. But today, he'd simply provide her with a few easy answers she wanted.

"Benjamin," she said, strolling over. "Whatever can be the matter? Do you have any idea what this...nonsense is about?"

The man turned to her, face ashen. "The bride has struck again. After so long...I suppose most had thought her curse had faded. But no...a prominent member of parliament...killed by her."

Irene blinked a few times before she conjured back a memory of what the man was referencing. The...what had Watson called her...Abominable Bride? Some ghastly woman who had supposedly killed herself and now was haunting all men who did wrong to women?

Well she had to admit the creativity was brilliant. But still, it did amuse her that people were still so worked up over the nonsense. Watson's story had declared the thing an elaborate hoax, although he had never officially declared what had been done to those responsible. Irene wondered now if perhaps it hadn't been as solved as Sherlock might have liked. Perhaps the supposed bride was still out there.

She shook her head and continued back on her way. She noted the appearance of a few police and pulled her veil low. Listening to the conversation as she passed, she did her best to blend in with the crowd and escape their notice.

"They're really going to find her this time," one of the men said. "Holmes is on it. He's promised there will be arrests straight away."

Irene frowned. Well, it was sooner than she might have anticipated.

But still, she wasn't altogether concerned. After all, this hardly mattered to her. She'd head home before she could possibly cross Holmes's path. And she'd perhaps spend a few additional hours there enjoying the delightful company.

* * *

Molly had a difficult time rousing herself out of the bed. If nothing else, she had to admit that Irene had good tastes. The silky sheets and soft mattress were all enough to lull her back to sleep for a little longer after Irene had left.

When she awoke she finally managed to push herself out of the warm nest and seek out the clothing she'd asked about. She slid on a simple cotton dress in a dark green. The proportions weren't perfect, but at least they were about the same height. She smiled at herself tentatively in the mirror, only wishing she had her wig to complete the feminine image. It was nice to not have to pretend for once.

After that it was simply a matter of finding something to occupy her mind. It was tempting to linger on the thoughts of Irene's confessions earlier, but she knew now this was something that she could easily overthink. She'd ruined too many things by complicating them with her anxiety. But for once she would quiet her mind and let things simply...happen.

She found some books and set to reading for the rest of the morning. It had been a long while since she'd simply allowed herself to sit down and consume a book.

Molly fell into the words, sucked into the very page to an extent where she didn't notice the door had opened.

"Ah, is my kitten enjoying herself?"

She looked up and met Irene's smoldering the book, she stood up and moved towards the other woman, though she hesitated in touching her.

"You're back," Molly said, blinking a few times. "Did you do everything you needed?"

"Indeed," Irene said with a smile. "I brought some of your things." She nodded to a pile on the sideboard and Molly was unable to keep from smiling. She hadn't expected such thoughtfulness, and yet here it was.

"If there is anything else you require I would be happy to go back if need be," Irene said. "Though I don't guarantee your guard dog would like that very well."

Molly frowned and tilted her head to the side.

"Miss Hawkins," Irene clarified with a shake of her head. "Not quite the friendliest...I'll leave it at that."

"Oh," Molly said. She tried to imagine that. Janine was always so welcoming and kind to her. But to Irene, it was possible she might act in a different fashion.

"Yes," Irene said. "And there was some girl asking for you at the morgue. I'm afraid she wouldn't give me any information though."

Molly frowned. "What?"

"A servant of some kind," Irene said with a wave of her hand. "I'm sure it's not altogether important. You'll perhaps have time to meet with her later."

Molly put the clues together and realized it had to be Sally Donovan.

"No," Molly said. "Unfortunately if it's who I think it is it's quite important. It might make or break the case I'm working on. And without cracking it I cannot possibly hope to return to my normal life."

Irene tilted her head to the side. "Are you in such a hurry to leave? I had thought you'd liked it here," she said, gaze darkening some.

"I do," Molly said. "But...don't you want to be together without fear of killers coming to get us?"

"A bit of a regular part of my life at this point," Irene said with a smirk. "So I'm afraid no. I don't."

Molly sighed. "I'm afraid I'm not sure I can grow used to this. Killers and drama. I just want my life back. My flat and my job and my… Oh Toby! I'll need to make sure someone feeds him."

"Your Toby?" Irene said with a raised eyebrow.

"My cat," Molly said with a flush. "He's very dear to me."

Irene smirked. "Ah see I knew Kitten had to be appropriate in some way."

Molly flushed and looked down at her skirt.

"Ah well," Irene said with a smile. "Even if you have a killer out there, I will at least let you know Sherlock Holmes shouldn't bother you for a time. There's been another killing by the Bride. And he'll be quite occupied dealing with that for a time."

Molly's head snapped up as she realized.

"What?" she gasped.

"The Abominable Bride," Irene said, frowning. "Why, what's the matter? She's killed again. Is that a problem?"

"Yes," Molly whispered, she staggered a bit and finally caught her balance and managed to sit on the couch. "My...my friends are behind it. I tried to convince them that another killing would be foolish...that they were testing their luck. But they wouldn't listen to me."

There was a moment of silence. Irene was gazing at her, though Molly saw no real shock in her expression. Molly's mind began to work frantically, hoping for a solution. She straightened after a moment, realizing what it had to be. "I have to warn them."

Irene was watching her. "You were just saying how worried you were about the danger."

"I am," Molly said. She stood and went to grab one of Irene's coats. "But that doesn't change the fact that if I sit here and do nothing, my closest friends will be arrested. I must make sure they know. They likely haven't realized the gravity just yet."

She wrestled on the coat and realized she still didn't have her hair. She glanced at the pile and was glad to see the wig resting there. Molly moved towards it, intending to have it on so she could be on her way.

Irene took a few steps towards her, catching her wrist.

"Be prudent, kitten," she whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to each of Molly's cheeks. "I don't wish to lose you so soon. Not after having just won you over."

"You have won nothing yet," Molly said, lifting her chin defiantly. "I have admitted only to being interested in your company. But if you wish me truly you will help me take down this killer so that we might share a safe and happy future. And...and you won't treat me like something...fragile. I must see to my friends. You might not have faith in me, but I know I can stop this before it's too late. I've had enough people tell me what I can and cannot do, and you will not be one more to the list."

Irene's eyes glowed with fervent admiration. "Oh my darling Molly, I don't intend to hinder your mission in any way. I merely worry because I have no desire to see you hurt. But I do believe you capable, darling. Truly. Show me how well you can do and come back to me this evening, yes?"

"Yes," Molly whispered.

Irene released her, and she snatched up the wig. She moved over to a mirror on the other wall and fixed the hair-piece into place.

She jumped a touch when Irene stepped behind her, eyes practically glowing in the mirror as she examined. Her eyes ran over the completed image of Molly's female persona before one hand drifted out to touch a soft coif of hair.

"Would you grow your hair long for me again?" she asked, eyes never leaving Molly's.

Molly tilted her head to the side. "Perhaps," she said.

But she knew the implications. To grow out her hair would be to leave behind all that she had accomplished. To fully accept her femininity again. Could she do that for Irene?

It was something to consider. In light of not having a full answer, Molly spun around to face the other woman.

Irene leaned in and pressed her lips onto Molly's. It took a second to relax, but at last Molly allowed the kiss, simply admiring the pleasant sensations, hoping only this would be her future.

She pulled away reluctantly, Irene's gaze fixed on her even as she let go.

Molly glanced away, swallowing before she moved to pick up her shoes. Irene moved to help her, kneeling down and leading the stockinged feet into their places. She looked up when she was finished. Molly's breath caught as those slender hands caught her own, forcing her to stare down at the woman before her.

"Come home to me, Molly," Irene said. "Promise?"

"I promise," Molly said solemnly. "I will, Irene."

"Good."

Irene stood and pulled Molly to her feet as well. She leaned in for a kiss, though it didn't linger the way others normally had.. Irene pulled back, caressing along Molly's cheek before letting go entirely. She left it at that, allowing Molly to shoot her one last regretful glance before she headed to the door.

* * *

She practically ran through the streets. She had considered fetching a cab, but she was worried enough she didn't feel like taking the time to hail one down. So instead Molly flew through the streets, not looking back, her mind fixed on the thought of warning her friends before it was all too late.

Of course, she knew where she had to go first. It was obvious.

She ran through the door without pausing to knock. Mrs. Brownlow called out behind her, but she ignored it and continued up the stairs. She reached Janine's flat with her chest heaving, breath coming in rasping swallows as she banged on the door.

Janine opened with a frown, her expression only softening when she saw who it was.

"Molly!" she gasped. "I thought...she said…"

"We can't worry about that right now," Molly said. "The murder. Dear god, Janine. Did you really think you'd get away with it?"

Janine's expression darkened. "The bastard deserved it. And you'd know that if you hadn't been so preoccupied chasing after your usual _type_."

"Type?" Molly said, stepping back.

"Dark haired psychopathic egoists who use their intelligence as an advantage over others and seek to create power for themselves as a result. And you've let far too many play you as their pawns. Holmes and Moriarty," Janine spat. "And now you're letting Adler do the same."

"Moriarty was a mistake," Molly said. "And I have never truly pursued Holmes in the way so many of you mock me for. Even given the opportunity I haven't done anything. So I would appreciate if you stop acting as though I have."

She took a deep breath, preventing herself from arguing further. It was tempting of course to try to explain to Janine what made Irene so appealing. But she didn't have time for it, and she was unsure how Janine might really take her sapphic tendencies anyways.

"The point is we need to go," Molly hissed. "And warn the others if we can. They're making arrests! This is serious. Holmes won't hold onto your secret for any longer, not with what's just happened. Everyone is demanding justice and an end to this perpetual fear that the Bride has inspired. If we don't go now, the entire Sisterhood faces a possible end."

Janine just stared at her for a long moment. Molly shifted, wondering if she'd made a mistake. Perhaps she should have gone to someone else first. Someone who might have helped her more.

It hurt to think one of her closest friends apparently didn't think a word she'd said was important. All because she'd found someone she finally could be with.

"Fine," Molly said after a second. "I'll go spread the word. I only wish you'd listen to me."

She moved towards the door, ready to leave. She only could hope perhaps Janine would come to her senses. They were in great danger.

However, just as Molly was about to reach for the handle, the door shot open. Four officers came rushing in.

"Miss Hawkins?" one demanded.

Molly stared back at Janine who had paled considerably.

"I'm Miss Hawkins," Janine said after a moment. She must have realized lying would do no good.

"And you are?"the officer said, glancing at Molly.

She just stood there. Giving her real name could be disastrous. But in the moment coming up wtih a false one...she simply couldn't under the pressure.

One of the officers grew impatient, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"Arrest them both. I doubt this one's innocent. Not if Holmes turns out to be right about all this."

Before Molly could say another word one of the officers had seized her arm. She glanced back at Janine in alarm, but the other woman had already been grabbed as well.

"Take them down to Scotland Yard," one of the men said. "Inspector Lestrade will be glad to see we've got two more. Maybe we'll finally put an end to this bride nonsense once and for all."

Hands were pulling her to the door. She gasped and struggled some, but a stern jab from one of the officers set her still again. Her eyes closed as she took in the reality. She was well and truly caught.

* * *

 **A/N: Sorry for the delay readers! I have had a crazy month. With the school year winding up it's been a bit insane, and then my mother ended up in the hospital too and I had a really hard time doing any sort of writing being so worried for her. But I'm ready to start working on finishing this thing up. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please let me know if you liked it! Positive feedback is really the only thing that keeps me writing!**


	14. Chapter 14

"For the last time," Lestrade said with a sigh. "I cannot help you if you won't give me answers."

Molly swallowed, keeping her eyes focused on the wall to her side, not daring to even glance in his direction. It was a miracle that she hadn't yet been recognized.

"For God's sake, woman, this is important. You do realize you could go to prison for this?" Lestrade demanded. "Conspiracy to commit murder at the very least. It's in your best interest to cooperate."

She pursed her lips a little tighter.

"Look here," Lestrade said with a sigh, "you don't want to be taken to the scaffold do you? I can help you, but you must help me. Who is the leader of your group? Who was in charge of the murders?"

Molly fixed her gaze more firmly in place. Her mind wandered to Irene. The other woman had to be worried by now. She'd told Molly to come home. But it was possible now she wouldn't. Perhaps not ever.

It was unavoidable; Molly closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and allowed her heart to settle back into a more even rhythm. This was certainly a terrible predicament, but losing her head would do her no good.

Molly was distracted by the sound of the door opening. She opened her eyes to see Lestrade glaring at the intruder.

"Sir," said an officer from the doorway, "Holmes is here to see you."

Lestrade frowned. "Holmes? I told him all I needed were names."

"He...er...seemed to believe you might need more, sir," the young officer said.

Lestrade shook his head. "Fine. Go ahead and send him in. Perhaps he can work more out of this one than I can. For the moment all of them seem rather tight-lipped. Let's see what features of interest the great detective can find, shall we?"

Molly froze as she took that into account. Sherlock, who had clearly already betrayed her group, would likely just tell Lestrade everything he needed to know. And she was more than aware that a trial would take his word far more seriously than hers. No matter how arrogant and offensive he might be in giving his testimony.

She squirmed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she waited.

Lestrade seemed to realize what was wrong.

"Don't like that then?" he said with a nod. "Well, you should have thought of that before you clammed up. Holmes'll loosen your tongue, of that I'm certain."

The door opened once more and in strode Holmes and Watson behind him. Molly rolled her eyes, never shocked that the poor sidekick hadn't been announced.

Sherlock's gaze locked on her. She stared up at him, not allowing herself to blink as his lip twitched minimally before he composed himself.

"What is this?" Sherlock said.

"One of the women we arrested," Lestrade said. "Wouldn't give us a name but was found with Miss Janine Hawkins. We were hoping you might be able to tell us a bit more."

The detective took a few more steps into the room. Watson was glancing between Lestrade and Sherlock, hands clenched even as his throat bobbed once.

"Well, I'm afraid to say you've been duped, Lestrade. As always, your idiocy astonishes me."

Lestrade's brow furrowed. "What?"

"This isn't a suspect," Holmes said coolly.

Watson coughed. "Holmes...what are you..."

An elbow caught his side, and he fell silent. Molly just looked at Sherlock, waiting for the catch. There had to be something he was going to do. Or something he wanted. Nothing was free with Sherlock Holmes, of that fact was she well aware.

"I sent her to investigate for me," Sherlock said. "Perhaps it wasn't the cleverest plan of mine, but I did trust her to find good information."

"A female informant?" Lestrade asked. He folded his arms, and Molly had a feeling it wouldn't pass. "Since when do you spend time with the fairer sex, Holmes?"

"Well, if you must know," Sherlock said, "my dear Molly has quite changed my mind on the whole subject. And she has proven a most brilliant partner to me."

Lestrade laughed. "You're having me on. A woman as a partner? Have you been doing morphine or cocaine again, Holmes? You can't be thinking straight."

"Quite straight actually," Holmes said. He moved to place a hand on her shoulder. Molly did nothing to acknowledge it.

Lestrade just raised a brow, still not accepting the excuse.

"She's my fiancee," Holmes said at long last. "Does that satisfy you, Lestrade? Happy to have dug as deep as necessary into my private life?"

Lestrade just shook his head. He looked to Watson first.

"It's true," the doctor said, though he certainly didn't appear overly sincere.

"Why didn't she just say so?" Lestrade demanded. "Why the secrecy then?"

"Likely just concern that an idiotic detective might botch things," Sherlock muttered before a kick from Watson caused him to say, "well, perhaps she trusted I'd be here soon to clear things up. Now, if I might escort her home, I'd be grateful."

Lestrade still appeared puzzled, but it was obvious that he wasn't going to stop Sherlock. After a moment he nodded to Molly.

Her heart began to beat a little faster as she stood and moved towards Sherlock.

"See," Sherlock said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "nothing to worry about, my dear. Now let's get you home for a more restful evening."

Molly nodded and followed him and Watson out of Scotland Yard.

She remained silent until they'd found a cab. Once inside she turned to Holmes.

"Your fiancee? Was that the best you could come up with? You're lucky the plan worked."

"Of course it worked," Sherlock said with a smirk. "Lestrade clearly doesn't know how to do the slightest bit of thinking. However, even with someone of a slightly higher caliber of intelligence...it might still have held. There is no denying you are lovely and bold and possess a brilliant mind. Such qualities might indeed have appeals to me. And most people are willing to believe in the silliness of love."

"It might be silly, but your lie wasn't," Molly said. "Nor was your confession for that matter. Allowing those women to be arrested."

Watson looked at Holmes. "She has a point. Was it really necessary? Many of them will likely be executed. Will more bloodshed really solve the problem? After all, their killings are all...well reasoned."

Holmes sighed. "You've come so far, Watson. And yet you miss the most basic truth I'd hoped you'd cling to. If we allow them to murder without reprieve, why must we stop others? There must be some element of a line in one's life, Watson. And I had given the Sisterhood warning enough that the killings had to stop."

Molly pursed her lips.

"Still," Watson muttered. "And for that matter, why is Hooper here if you're so determined to have justice? She's guilty too."

"I didn't give her name for multiple reasons," Holmes said. "But the principle one was that she wasn't involved in the latest murder. Not even in its planning. But certainly not in its execution."

Molly was torn between being frustrated or pleased. She couldn't quite tell if the deduction was brilliant or if it simply showed how nosy Holmes had been as of late.

She considered asking how he'd drawn the conclusion, but Watson looked more than fed up enough.

"You'll still allow their blood on your hands?" Molly said. "Those women are my friends."

"You allowed it too," Holmes said. "Don't tell me you did all you could to stop them, Molly. Because you and I know that's not at all true."

She swallowed, but she didn't dare reply. His words rang true. She hadn't done everything in her power to prevent this. She had known of the plot and remained silent. There had been too much distraction as of late to give it more than a cursory thought. But how was one meant to focus when Irene Adler was busy being the seductress she could all too well be. Molly sighed and looked out the window of the cab.

"Well Holmes," Watson said with a cough, "about the...fiancee bit."

Sherlock cleared his throat.

Watson fell silent and instead turned to pull out his pipe. Holmes settled back in his seat.

"I do not deny the proposition has some...intrigue," Holmes said. "After all, you, Molly, might benefit from having a husband. But most especially from having one who holds no antiquated ideas of a woman needing to be a docile creature kept to the house and her sewing. And I'd certainly expect no...marriage bed."

Molly had to forcibly keep her jaw shut to keep her mouth from falling open.

"You must be joking," she said.

"Certainly not," Holmes said with a sharp nod. "You can hardly deny the advantages, Hooper."

It was true. If she were to give herself to Holmes, she'd have the marriage everyone had always wanted for her, and yet the freedom to maintain some form of independence.

"You hardly love me," Molly said softly.

Holmes smirked. "Love is...admittedly not something I could ever truly give you, Molly. I do not deny I admire you and enjoy your company in some respects. But I do not feel the silly sentiment that many men would for a woman, no. Ours would be a marriage of convenience."

"Then what's in it for you?" Molly asked. She folded her arms and edged a little closer, finding her behaviorisms she usually ingrained in her male form coming to play. She stared into his eyes and didn't blink.

"You might say I've had some trouble lately with the fact that I'm a...bachelor," Holmes said, eyes flashing. "Someone has apparently been displaying a vendetta against me. First an absurd number of clients with absolutely ludicrous cases, and next rumors about my person. I'm afraid I might have an image to restore, even if I'd rather not. I cannot afford to be thrown in prison."

Molly frowned. She hadn't heard a single rumor, but that certainly didn't mean they weren't there. Still, to warrant prison they had to be something awful. But how could she possibly benefit him?

"And marriage is truly the best way to fix it?" Molly said.

"I believe so," Dr. Watson answered. "You'd help us, wouldn't you Hooper? Especially in order to help yourself."

Molly frowned. A few months ago she might have been delighted by such an offer. Even a week ago, she might have accepted without much resistance. Anything to help Sherlock Holmes and perhaps give herself the life she'd wanted since she was a child.

However, her thoughts were drawn back to Irene as she gazed out the window. A flash of crimson and she was seeing one of those dazzling gowns. A dark curl conjured images of waking in bed with those soft locks strewn beside her. The slightest hint of a tantalizing hip or breast... she felt her knees weaken at the mere thought.

Could she deny what she'd only just found? Perhaps it would be easier in such a way. To walk away from her sapphic desires. Simply build up a wall and place all those elements of herself on the other side. And besides, Holmes had admitted there would be no love. And certainly no...physical elements of a relationship. Perhaps it was selfish...immoral even to think of such things. But Molly couldn't deny that some part of her longed for such intimacy. Her stomach warmed as she thought of Irene's smiles.

"I can't," she said after a moment. "I'm sorry, Holmes. Find yourself another wife. I'll have no part in this."

Holmes sighed. "I thought you might say something of the sort. Fine. So be it. However, that doesn't mean you can simply go wander about the city again. There's a killer on the loose, and you risk arrest again. I won't have it."

Molly gasped. "And what do you propose instead?"

"Mrs. Hudson can set up a room for you," Holmes said.

"I won't go," Molly said.

"I thought you might say that," Sherlock said with a wry smile. "Forgive me, Hooper. It's for your own good."

A rag was forced to her nose before she could utter another word. She struggled for a moment, but after a few seconds she was forced to inhale, and suddenly her consciousness left her.

* * *

Irene couldn't deny that after eight hours she was beginning to worry. Initially she'd tried to pass it off as Molly having more to deal with than she'd initially assumed. After all, the woman was more than capable of handling herself. Irene certainly hadn't lied when she said she believed Molly would be fine.

However, as Irene heard the chimes of midnight ring through the city, she began to realize something truly terrible must have happened.

"Or perhaps mousey only changed her mind," Irene said.

The idea was unlikely, but certainly not impossible. Molly might have just decided she'd be happier off with someone else. Realized a woman wasn't what she was looking for.

So, with too many thoughts in her mind to possibly turn in, Irene pulled on her coat and headed out into the night.

She flew through the streets, not daring to stop for a second. Every moment she spent paused might be crucial. She had to find clues before they were swept away.

Her first stop was at Molly's flat. She went upstairs and knocked. When she got no reply she pulled a pin out of her hair and set about jimmying the lock. It took only a few seconds before the door sprang open.

She peered into the darkened room.

"Hooper," she whispered.

There was no response.

A hint of motion alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone. Irene tensed, only to realize it was a cat who'd climbed down from the settee to come rub against her leg.

"Why hello there pretty puss," Irene murmured, getting down low to run a hand through his soft fur. "What did Molly call you? Toby?"

The cat let out a low purr and Irene sighed. It should have been Molly purring for her this evening. But instead she was left to search for clues of what had gone amiss.

Though she didn't relish the thought of tangling with the other lodger, Irene couldn't deny there was a possibility that Janine might know of the events of the day.

Scooping up Toby, she headed downstairs and rapped twice on the door.

There was again no response. This time she didn't bother to pick the lock. She headed to the stairs and stopped on the lowest level before knocking on the landlady's door.

The doorknob twisted and the elderly woman peered out into the dark hallway.

"Who's there? I have a pistol you know. I'm not afraid to use it."

Irene took a single step back.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, madam. I was looking for Mr. Hooper. Is he not in?"

The woman frowned. "Goodness knows I don't have the faintest idea what's become of that boy! One day he was here, and the next he was...gone. It's been at least two days since I've seen him. Left after some kind of...attack. I tell you, I don't know what to do with this business these days. Between the attack and the two women being arrested under my roof. Oh people will talk I tell you!"

Irene frowned. "Two women?"

"Aye, my other tenant Miss Hawkins and a friend of hers were both arrested while here," the woman said, blinking owlishly. She seemed to realize Irene was holding Toby for the first time. "Well at least someone's taking care of him. I haven't the faintest clue what to do with a cat. I suppose the queen manages just fine with servants, but I would never have one myself."

Irene sighed. "I'll take the cat. Can you please telegram me if Hooper returns? I can give you a place to reach me."

"Of course," said the older woman. "I admit, I wasn't quite sure about your sort around here. But Mr. Hooper's been so much more cheery as of late. I think he might have finally found love."

She beamed and Irene was left to raise an eyebrow. Molly truly cared for her then. If others could see it, it was likely true.

"Goodnight," Irene said. "Thank you for your help. I really do appreciate it."

"Have a goodnight, dear," the landlady said. "Best of luck to you finding that strange boy."

Strange indeed.

However, as the door closed, Irene was already formulating her theories. Molly had left dressed as a woman. And the landlady had mentioned an arrest of a second woman. Was it possible that was the missing Molly Hooper?

Well if so, Irene knew there were places she'd need to go in order to find such information. Or more accurately, people she needed to see...or perhaps do in order to find her answers.

Taking the cat with her, she set off to find those who would be able to provide her with information. She closed her eyes for only a few seconds, breathing deeply as she did her best to visualize Molly. Those warm eyes staring into hers before soft lips found hers in a kiss. She wasn't allowing this new found lover to slip away so easily. No, she had to find Molly before it was too late.

* * *

Molly came to after a few seconds. She blinked and looked around, trying to understand what she was seeing. A small bedroom from the looks of things. A single bed and a desk. No other furnishings besides those.

She stood up slowly, rubbing her temple as she allowed a groan to escape. Apparently it had been utter foolishness to trust Holmes. She chided herself as she moved towards the door. Janine would have been so disappointed in her.

She jiggled the handle only to find it locked. Molly hesitated a moment before peering around, looking for some means of aid.

There was a small window to the side. Moving towards it, she could already tell it would be a problem. She could see the next roofline over. The window was on a second or third story at least. There would be no means to climb out.

There was a second of forcing herself to take a few deep breaths before she heard something.

There was a creak from behind her, and then the doorknob was twisting.

"Ah," said a voice as the door opened fully. "I thought you might be awake by now. How's your head feeling?"

Molly balled her hands into fists as she stared at Sherlock.

"How dare you," she hissed. "Kidnapping me? What can you possibly hope to accomplish?"

Sherlock sighed. "Nothing awful, Hooper, I assure you. I did mean it when I said I had no interest in a wedding bed. Or any other type with you. However, that doesn't mean I am not concerned for your safety. Or for...the information you continue to withhold from me."

"So this is all about a case?" Molly said, her voice trembling slightly.

"In some ways," Sherlock said tilting his head. "You have no concept of how important this is, Hooper. I must find this killer. Why are you so determined to hold out on me?"

Molly's jaw clenched. "Because you don't need to be the only one to be smart, Sherlock Holmes. Others can make a difference in this world too. And I fully intend to. I will catch this killer before you do. Even locked in this room."

"I will be delighted to see how you go about it," Sherlock said with a smirk. "In the meantime, enjoy knowing you won't be added to the number of victims. I bid you goodnight, Molly. I'll have Mrs. Hudson bring you up a few things once I've calmed her down."

Molly had to imagine the woman wasn't thrilled with the idea of someone being locked in her rooms.

Sherlock turned to the door, and Molly was left with a few quick choices. She might have attempted to attack him, had not her common sense kicked in. Sherlock Holmes was bigger than her, and better trained at fighting. No. Any attack she made would have to be utterly clever. And she knew something would come her way if she waited.

So instead she moved to sit on the bed, listening as the door closed and the lock turned again. A moment's wait, and then she was up and pacing. Walls wouldn't contain her. Not when she had Irene to return to.

* * *

 **A/N: One of the few times I wish I could slip into another person's perspective so I could write the hilarious scene where John realized Sherlock had drugged Molly and was intending to kidnap her. Because that definitely caused a major argument. Or Mrs. Hudson when they brought Molly in together. Because both would be great. However, this story is about Molly and Irene, so it will continue to center on them rather than Sherlock or anyone else.**

 **Not feeling as attached to this story as I did in the beginning sadly. The thing that would help me most are encouraging reviews and comments! So thank you to those of you who've continued to inspire me. Without you this story probably would have been abandoned long ago!**


	15. Chapter 15

Molly had all but given up.

She'd spent almost an hour searching the room for some clever means of escape. The closest thing she could begin to come up with was using the pins in her hair to try to pick the lock. However, after breaking one she soon realized it might be harder than she'd expected. Perhaps Irene could teach her more about the art later. A woman as talented with her fingers ought to be a decent teacher...perhaps in other areas as well. Molly found herself flushing at the thought.

Nonetheless, as she sank back onto the bed, Molly still held onto her hope. Something would come. If nothing else she could perhaps find some means of attacking Sherlock when he came in. She had time to think about it. And for the moment, her only real concern was what Irene would do with her missing.

Her eyes had just begun to close when she heard footsteps.

Molly sat up. Was Sherlock really going to come bother her again? She'd been hoping to have a little peace if nothing else. A few moments to just rest and pretend none of this mess was happening.

The lock turned and the door opened.

Mrs. Hudson poked her head in and gave a half smile.

"Are you all right, dear?"

"I'm as well as one can be locked in a room," Molly said, though she allowed no real malice to penetrate her tone. She was aware this was all Sherlock's scheme, and it would do no good to take it out on the poor landlady.

"Oh you poor thing," Mrs. Hudson said. "Well it's no matter. Sherlock's gone out again with the doctor. You're free to leave if you would like."

Molly frowned. "I was under the impression he'd asked you to keep me here."

Mrs. Hudson huffed and shook her head. "I'm his housekeeper not his jailer! That man assumes too much of me. Locking up innocent girls like in one of those horrible novels. I won't have it under my roof."

Molly rose, hardly daring to believe it. It was too easy. Sherlock had simply overlooked one key thing. Human error.

"Thank you," Molly said. She stood and ran a hand over her skirts before she moved towards the door.

She paused in the doorway considering a moment.

"And yet…" Molly hesitated and looked back. "When will Sherlock be back?"

"Oh likely not for a few hours," Mrs. Hudson said with a shrug. "He sounded quite busy with his cases."

"Then I have some time," Molly said after a moment.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Hudson said. "He won't be able to find you after. Don't you worry. Whatever bolt hole you'd found before was quite effective."

Molly had no doubt of course. Irene had outwitted him many a time before. However, that didn't end her consideration that there were more important elements at play.

"No. I want...would like for you to lock me back in here when I return within the next hour," Molly said.

The other woman's brow wrinkled. "What's that?"

"Lock me back in here when I get back," Molly said. "Sherlock can never know. But I am going to play his game. I can still solve this case from inside the walls of his home. He just won't realize you're helping me. He's right in some ways...there is a killer after me. Perhaps this way I will have some safety. And I'll have better access to information about what he's up to in the meantime. I think it might be...quite effective."

Mrs. Hudson beamed. "Oh that's quite the idea! I like it. I'll help you with whatever you'd like. Anything to teach that silly man that I won't just take orders from him about whatever he likes."

"Someone has to teach him," Molly agreed with a smile. "Now if you'd be so kind, I'm going to be on my way. I have a friend I need to find. I will be back as soon as I can."

"I'll help cover for you if you're not back in time, dear. Never you worry. Sherlock might think he's so smart, but if I start putting up a fuss about cleaning or some other nonsense he'll likely stalk off to his bedroom and hide."

Molly giggled before heading to the door. Well, perhaps her luck really was turning around.

* * *

It took less than twenty minutes to wrangle the facts out of the one of the police officers. Of course, as Irene straightened her skirt, she again felt a pang of regret that she and Molly had not been given a chance to discuss this. Sexual fidelity. Given her background, Molly would likely expect it. And yet Irene wondered if she would truly be able to lay this aside. Sex for business. Sex for information. Sex for...pleasure. Would Molly understand?

Kate had, but she'd been a unique little thing with an appetite that Irene couldn't sate by herself. They'd come to agree upon that together, that the both of them could seek help where it was needed. But Molly… virginal beautiful Molly. She'd likely expect Irene's attentions alone.

She helped the officer fasten his trousers and brushed a teasing kiss to his cheek.

"Thank you for the information," she purred.

He gave her a lopsided grin as she sent him on his way.

Now she knew the facts. Molly Hooper had indeed been arrested. Taken to a holding cell where she was only released when Sherlock Holmes turned up, claiming she was his fiancee and that he had asked her to investigate for him.

Odd cover for the detective. Irene had a sneaking suspicion it meant her rumors had caught up with him. Or perhaps it was imprecise to call them rumors, seeing as most of them had a basis in truth. She smirked at the thought. Poor man. He'd thought marrying Watson off might save him the trouble. But society was still hungry for another scandal.

However, if Molly truly had left with Sherlock, it was unclear to her why the other woman hadn't returned to her flat. Why was there still no sign of her if she'd been freed? But the answer was clear enough… Sherlock was cornered. And it seemed perhaps he was becoming desperate.

"You keep her from me Sherlock Holmes, and I swear I'll make you beg like I've always wanted to," Irene muttered. "Except for mercy, not for pleasure."

She formulated a plan rather quickly. It was evident to her who she needed to talk to.

While it was tempting to go directly to the source, Irene believed that there was a weak point that would be easier to access. And she knew right where that was.

Irene took a cab rather than walking. Better to save her breath.

She knocked on the door. There was a long wait before she heard cursing and shuffling. And then the door opened and John Watson appeared.  
"I swear, we are hiring a new maid," he muttered. And then he caught sight of her and his eyes widened. "My god."

"Hello, John," she said. "Won't you be a dear and let me in?"

The doctor stared at her for a long moment. She watched his fists clench, eyebrows furrowing. Well, good to know his hatred of her hadn't diminished.

"What is it you want?" he snapped. "Haven't you done enough? Ruining Sherlock. And now...toying with Hooper. How many more lives must you destroy?"

"Touchy," Irene purred, looking him up and down. "I've left your dear detective alone. You needn't worry about him anymore. Not when I have newer and more interesting toys to play with. Won't you invite me inside? We have some important things to talk about."

Watson stared at her for another long moment before shaking his head.

"We have nothing to discuss," he said.

"Oh really," Irene said, raising an eyebrow. "So you have no interest in my cooperation in making sure Sherlock Holmes doesn't go to jail for...well...certain illicit activities that the both of you regularly enjoy."

John blanched. "You bitch. I knew it was you."

"I'll use what tools I need," she said with a small smile. "And you've exposed your weaknesses to me a little too easily, John Watson."

"And you've done the same with yours," Watson said firmly. "Sherlock's keeping Hooper. Until you can behave. Fix it and maybe I"ll talk him into releasing her."

Molly. Irene paused in the doorway. She did her best to keep her face neutral, even as her heart began to pound. It was Sherlock, after all. It was unlikely he'd harm her. But still...the thought of her locked away. She shuddered and then managed a smile, but she could see in Watson's eyes that he'd caught sight of the momentary weakness.

"I'll fix it if you let her go," Irene said. "How's that for a deal? Holding innocent people hostage? Is that Sherlock's new thing to do? Seems a bit...criminal really. And here I thought he was dedicated to justice."

John's mustache twitched. "Not like you would know right from wrong," he muttered. "There is no deal. Kill the rumors."

"I have heard Sherlock's already attempting to," Irene said. "With his announcement of an engagement to Molly."

John stiffened at the use of her Christian name. So he hadn't been aware of Irene knowing the secret. Perfect.

"He's afraid," John said after a moment. "A man like Sherlock Holmes in prison? Can you imagine? He'd go mad."

"He knew the risks when he began engaging with you. And with others," Irene said with a simpering smile. "People like us know there may be consequences to our actions. We're not blind to society's punishments."

"People like us," John spat. "As though you're anything like him."

"Quite alike," Irene said, stepping a little closer. "Or are you forgetting Sherlock has a young woman held captive for his own benefits."

She was silenced as another figure appeared in the doorway.

"He's done...what?" Mary Watson said, raising an eyebrow.

Irene folded her arms and stared the other woman down. John Watson wasn't much of a threat. His wife, on the other hand, was one of the women who reminded Irene that it was foolish to ever refer to a female as the weaker sex. Mary Watson's eyes fixed on her, and Irene did her best to keep her head held high under that calculating gaze.

"It's…" John spluttered. "He had to do it! She was almost murdered. Arrested for her idiotic women's group same as Eliza was. And then these rumors." He glanced around the street as though he expected someone to pop out of the bushes. "Rumors about me and Sherlock. Things that could get him arrested."

Mary frowned. "I thought you two had been discreet? I thought that was the whole point of your out of town trips?"

"We have been!" John said with a hiss. "It's Irene here who's been causing the trouble."

Irene met Mary's gaze. The other women turned a look of malice on John instead.

"So you've what...kidnapped someone?" Mary said.

"Molly Hooper," John growled. "For her own safety. And ours."

"And you just let that happen?" Mary said, folding her arms. "You just let him drag you into kidnapping? Holding someone against their will?"

John opened his mouth and then shook his head. "I...I swear I tried to stop him. Told him it was idiotic. But he's gone half mad with all of this nonsense. I couldn't stop him."

"Well you'd better do something," Mary hissed. "If you don't want trouble you'd best sort this out right away."

"I'll speak with him about it," John said, clearing his throat. "I was against it in the first place as I've already said."

"I can't believe you allowed him to do something like that," Mary muttered.

"He's Sherlock Holmes," John said with a sigh and shake of his head. You're acting like I have some magical control over him that others lack. I'm afraid that is quite inaccurate. Holmes will do as he pleases."

"I expect her release within the day," Irene said in a low voice. "I won't stand by for her being held any longer than necessary."

John sighed. "And how do you propose I go about it? In order to get Holmes to cooperate?"

Irene paused. It was a tricky situation. And Holmes was indeed strong-minded and likely would not respond well to others telling him what to do. Especially if John had already tried it.

"Then you let her out," Irene suggested.

"What?" John said, blinking as he stared at her.

"You let her out," Irene said softly. "Or if you'd prefer...I will. But you need to help me set up an ideal time to do so."

"And how will you coax Holmes away from her?" John asked, brow arching.

"I'll make it simple," Irene said with a smirk. "Send him my calling card. He'll hardly be able to sit still with that."

"And reveal yourself to him?" John suggested, crossing his arms. "I thought you were intent on maintaining your cover."

"He has a point," Mary said, leaning against the doorframe. "Is that worth it?"

"There is little I wouldn't do to see Molly returned to safety," Irene said in a low voice.

"Safety?" Mary said. "Holmes might be a little...peculiar. But he certainly wouldn't hurt a friend. I don't believe she's in any danger."

"I would feel happier knowing where she was," Irene said softly. "I would feel more comfortable with her in my presence."

"Dear god," Watson muttered rubbing his chin.  
"You can hardly afford to judge me, Watson," Irene spat. "Our relationship is no different than yours and Holmes."

"Holmes didn't seduce me," Watson growled. "Holmes isn't a dangerous criminal and I'm not some virginal girl who doesn't know what she really wants."

Irene stared at him for a long moment. "My business is done here. Tell Holmes to let her go. Or else, Watson. I will send my calling card. The rest is up to you. If you don't free her I will make your life a living hell. And see to it that Holmes's rumors only increase tenfold."

She turned on her heel and walked back down the street. She heard the Watsons bickering as she left, until the door slammed shut.

A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She closed her eyes for just a few seconds, hoping her strategy wouldn't fail. Perhaps she could pull off one last crazy plan.

* * *

Molly was out of breath. She'd spent half her time escaped running, bolting down the street, ignoring the looks thrown her way as she careened towards the morgue.

It was silly to go there first. She knew that Irene should be her priority, but at the same time she had escaped partly for the purpose of showing Sherlock up. Simply to finish this case before he could. And if she was to do so, she needed speed on her side.

Molly sped down the steps, not stopping for a second. She didn't bother to think, only moving towards her office, flinging the door open.

She gasped as she realized it was occupied.

Donovan was sweeping the floor. She spun around to shoot Molly a confused look.

"Excuse me, ma'am," the girl said.

Molly froze, suddenly realizing she hadn't bothered to change her clothes.

"Oh… apologies," she said. "I...I just was looking...looking for my brother."

The girl frowned. "Brother?"

"Hooper," Molly gasped out. "Miles Hooper. My...er...brother. Have you seen him?"

Donovan shook her head. "No?"

"Oh," Molly said after a moment. "Er...you must be Donovan. He's spoken of you. Have you found any more information for him? I know he's been eager for more."

"A little," the other woman said setting her broom aside and folding her arms.

"Well, could you tell me. I'll pass it on," Molly said. Irene had had little luck with this, clearly. But she hoped perhaps she could wheedle it out of the maid.

Donovan stared at her for a long moment. "Fine. I'll pass it on."

Molly smiled, glad to have had some triumph over Irene. There were benefits to kindness and softness she supposed.

"So, that Kate woman...the redhead...she was killed on April 11th correct?"

Molly nodded. "Yes. That's… er I mean...that's what Miles had said."

"So, the maid...I talked to her fellow workers and they say she stopped showing up for work on the 8th. Three days prior."

"So you're suggesting she was killed first?" Molly asked, brow wrinkling. She tried to put the facts together. Did this teach her anything?

"Yes," Sally said softly. "Which is logical. Lower class girl unlike the others. And I saw something about different knife wounds."  
"They were thinner on her," Molly agreed.

"So…that makes her more likely to be the first. Which means if you dig you might just find your killer from her," Donovan said with just a hint of a smile.

Molly sighed. "Thank you. I don't know how this case would have been solved without you. Truly, you're...god if it weren't impossible I might suggest you become a detective."

She winced as she realized how harsh that might sound. But it was true. Donovan could never truly attain what she wanted to. What a cruel world.

"It's not a problem," Donovan said after a moment. "Anything to help."

"No," Molly said again. "Er...Miles will be extremely pleased. Perhaps he'll actually be able to show Sherlock up for once."

Donovan's head tilted to the side slightly. "Well, I've never really been in favor of helping a man." She paused and looked Molly over. "But I suppose anyone's better than that freak."

Molly gave a wry smile. "Right you are."

She turned to go, but Donovan spoke up again.

"And miss?"

She looked back in time to catch a smirk.

"I might not be a detective...but it doesn't take one to realize you're not Mr. Hooper's sister."

Molly frozen. She looked Donovan in the eye, and was relieved only to see there was no malice there.

"But if you ever need my assistance you do be sure to let me know," Donovan said after a moment. "As I said...I hate helping a man."

Molly gave a tip of her head before heading to the door. She sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before stealing herself to go see Irene...even if it was only for a few minutes. She had to be back before Sherlock returned. That much she was aware of, even if it was a painful reality.

* * *

 **A/N: Reviews keep me going! Thanks to all who've supported me!**


	16. Chapter 16

Molly ran the last flight of steps, out of breath by the time she reached the top. She banged twice on the door and waited.

There were no sounds.

She waited a moment longer, poised and ready to enter as soon as the door might open. Her ear pressed against the wood, waiting for the sound of footsteps.

"Irene, it's me!" she called. "Please let me in."

There still was no response. Molly hesitated before turning the handle. The door didn't budge.

She groaned and leaned her forehead against the surface in front of her, closing her eyes and willing a few deep breaths. This would be her luck. Limited time and Irene wasn't at home.

She turned towards the stairs and started down them before pausing. If only there was some way to leave some sort of...message. Molly paused and reached into her wig to find one of the hairpins. She removed it and then went back up the steps to slide the pin into the lock. She examined it, noting the few brown strands clinging to the metal. She nodded before starting back down. There was a moment where she paused in the street and looked up at the window. It remained dark.

With a sigh Molly took off. She had more to do before she could go back.

* * *

Irene was lost in thought as she wandered back towards her flat. She still kept picturing Molly locked away at Baker Street. Was the girl all right? Did her heart ache as painfully as Irene's?

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way. Perhaps she never had. Kate had warmed her, made affection rise to mind at the thought of her in her bed and in her life. The sex had been pleasurable. But Molly… she was of a different cloth… a completely different creature to be reckoned with.

She took the steps up to her flat, her limbs feeling unusually heavy. She reached for her key only to note that something was in the keyhole blocking her way.

Irene moved to grab it, cautiously taking hold of the small piece of metal and drawing it out. Her heart beat a little faster as she stared at it.

A hairpin.

"Molly," she whispered.

She moved to unlock the door, but realized as she stared into the darkened flat that she'd raised her hopes for nothing.

Irene paused, considering. Molly had been here. Of that much she was certain.

As she moved to light a candle, she drew the pin near to the light and examined the strands of hair. There was no doubt in her mind.

However, the better question was how to proceed. If Molly was already free there was no need to continue with her plan for Holmes. Better not to involve him at all.

But Molly had fled. Clearly she had intended only to let Irene know she'd been there and little else. But where could she have gone?

Was it better to go try to find her or stay put?

Irene cursed and slammed a fist into the sideboard. She did her best to swallow the sudden rage that had boiled over, to catch the tears that were threatening to spill.

After a long moment she finally managed to breathe in deeply, closing her eyes for just a second before opening them again to survey the small room.

Irene turned to grab for paper, scribbling down words without a second thought.

She turned back to the door and slid the paper into the crack along one side. With any luck Molly might see it while any other passerby would ignore such a small detail.

Irene shut the door again and turned to exit the building. She went back into the night, pulling her shawl tight around her shoulders. Perhaps it wasn't too late.

* * *

Molly had initially hoped she might run across Irene, if nothing else to have someone to discuss her ideas with. For the moment she was left simply to pace an empty alley and mutter to herself. She had less than an hour until she needed to be back at Baker street.

"The maid was the first one killed," she whispered. "It all points back to her death. The start of all this. Something about her…"

She'd been trying to piece it together. Molly bit her lip. It was right there; the solution just within grasp.

No matter what danger, she had to figure this out. For Irene's sake if not for her own.

With a sharp jerk, she turned herself back in the direction of the maid's employer. A harsh wind whipped into her, biting into her skin. Molly wrapped her arms around herself and pressed on.

The house had a single light in the window. Molly peered at it as best she could from the street, searching for any visible signs of movement. A shadow passed before the curtain.

She darted to the door and rapped twice.

Her hands smoothed over her skirts as the door opened. The butler from before peered out at her, lowering his spectacles for a moment before raising them again as his brows knit together.

"May I help you?" he asked, voice sharp.

"I'm a friend of Miss Delaney's," she said softly. "And I've come to find out more about what happened. About how she died."

The man stared at her for a long moment. "You may return in the morning at a more suitable time, madam."

He began to shut the door.

"Please," Molly gasped. "Anything you can tell me would help! But I must know more about...about what happened before she died. I have to find out what happened."

The butler paused a moment. "There's nothing more to tell. All the details have been revealed to the police. She left our employment and was later found dead."

"She never left," Molly hissed. "That much I know. That's merely to cover what ever wrongdoings were committed in this house."

His gaze leveled with hers and Molly watched a vein throb in his temple.

"I would not press, madam. It is not your place nor would it be appropriate were I to reveal information to you."

"Well clearly you haven't given it to the police either. I have a detective friend and all he's said is that you claimed she left work. That's not true."

The man grabbed for her arm. Molly recoiled, moving away from the door.

"I will ask you once and only once to not get yourself into trouble," the man hissed. "Allow the police to handle this. You're going to get yourself killed."

Molly eyed him. "Is that a threat?"

"Girls like Miss Delaney are just asking for trouble," the man said. "Coming home at all hours of the night like some indecent little trollop. And ones who question and defy authority as well."

Molly stared for a long moment. His words whirling through her mind. All the victims were women. She moved further from the door.

"And you're implying you had nothing to do with this? That you knew nothing of what happened to her?"

"I know that she was expelled from this household," the butler hissed. He straightened and stared at Molly again. "But that is not of your concern. What you must know is that she didn't die here. She'd already been let go."

It was enough. Molly knew there were secrets, that this indeed had to be the root to the murders. The first of the horrific crimes. She smiled in spite of the fact that the butler was still glaring at her.

"I appreciate the help, sir. That will be all."

She turned and headed back towards the street. The man humphed and slammed the door shut.

Molly let out a sigh and turned back. Time to head back to Baker street then. She'd have to ask Mrs. Hudson to let her out again tomorrow for further investigation. She was one step closer though. A man who claimed that women like herself were trouble who'd apparently expelled a young and perhaps less than virtuous maid from his house. Why it was all quite compelling as a story.

A gust of wind nearly bowled her over as she rounded a corner. Molly huddled a little more as she kept walking, feet crunching through leaves at a more brisk pace as she tried to escape the cold. Perhaps she should even swing by Irene's one more time before she headed back. There was no telling when Sherlock would be in or out again.

Molly brightened at the thought. Irene would likely have ideas about the whole situation. She might even have a viable means of freeing the Sisterhood. And beyond that it would simply be nice to accept a few kisses and caresses and "poor darling"s that Irene would likely give to her. Her eyes closed for a moment while she imagined snuggling back into that comfortable bed and allowing Irene to help her forget about it all. Erase Sherlock and his arrogance. Put at ease all of Molly's worries.

She smiled and opened her eyes again, daring to pick up her pace just a little more in hopes of reaching Irene faster.

Pushing faster, she failed to notice the movement in the shadows to her right. Molly kept walking, focused on the corner and calculating how many more blocks it might be.

She stepped past the darkened alley, only catching sight of the cloaked figure as she passed by the hiding spot. Molly gasped and pulled back, seeing the flash of metal as the blade came closer.

Pain erupted as the knife found its mark. Molly jerked back quickly, knowing from a thousand biopsies what damage a blade could do if placed correctly in the abdomen. A flash of red began to blossom along the side of her dress. She reeled back, hand falling to the wound. Pressure. She had to maintain pressure.

But her attacker was not finished.

Molly lashed out as best she could with one hand trying to staunch the bleeding. She aimed her shoe carefully, getting a good kick into the shin of the attacker. She aimed her next blow with as much precision, striking into the gut where she knew it would hurt the most. There was a gasp from the figure and then the knife dropped to the ground. Molly grabbed for it, moving to jab it in the general direction of the attacker.

"Get back!" she gasped. "Help!"

Her cry carried over the cobblestones. She watched as a candle flickered to life in one of the windows nearby. She gasped as the cloaked figure turned and disappeared back down the alleyway.

"Someone help! The killer's getting away!"

In all the commotion she'd failed to keep a proper grip on the wound. She looked down to find blood still trickling past her fingers even as she began to feel lightheaded. Molly tried to push harder, but her body was already out of her control.

She didn't feel it when she hit the ground.

* * *

Irene had not even begun to figure out where to go. Molly's location was an utter mystery to her. But a quick walk couldn't do any harm. Anything to even catch a glimpse of her and know she was all right.

What began as a quick walk soon turned into more than an hour of pacing street after street. She kept walking, thinking on Molly and what Molly had to be doing.

She still had the case clearly. But Irene knew so little about what that meant that she couldn't even begin to choose where to head.

"There was Kate and the suffragette woman and the maid from the fancy house…"

Nicer neighborhoods. That was Irene's first thought. Not the lower class prostitutes she'd heard of being killed before. The same was true of Kate. She'd been living in Irene's house, which certainly wasn't in a place that was at all impoverished.

Then the answer was to go back towards the place where it had all started for her. To head to the house she'd stayed with Kate before it had ended. That was the common link between these women.

She hailed a cab, too tired and too concerned with the sudden appearance of streetlamps being lit to mind having to spend a little money. She asked if he'd drive her down a few streets.

"I do so love to see how the neighbor's houses look at night," she said with a smile. "It makes me feel so nostalgic."

"Yes ma'am," the cabbie said. "If that's what you'd like I'd be happy to oblige."

He seemed all the more happy when she passed more than a fair sum well in advance.

Irene had all but given up hope when she heard the scream.

"That way please," she said.

"You sure, miss?" the cabbie asked. "Probably no good."

"No, please," Irene stressed. "If you won't take me I'll walk."

The cabbie looked hesitant, but he urged the horses on and turned the corner.

There was a small crowd gathered. In the middle of the street, barely visible in the lowlight. Irene felt her heart begin to beat more quickly, even as she descended.

"No," she whispered.

She pressed through the small crowd, begging and pleading to be let through.

Her breath caught as she saw her own familiar dress stained with blood, tender brown curls strewn upon the pavement.

"Molly," she gasped. "No! Dear god no!"

Tears were in her eyes before she could believe it. They were so rare, she'd not even found them at Kate's death. After all, to cry was a sign of weakness. But there in front of strangers, she could not restrain a broken sob and a few more tears that fell as she moved to her knees and touched the face of the woman she'd come to love.

Irene brushed her fingers over that familiar face. She was startled to find warmth there, and as she leaned closer a soft whisper of breath across her own lips.

"Molly," she whispered again, hardly daring to believe it.

Her eyes fell to the wound. The blood seeping steadily past Molly's hand where she'd clearly tried to stop the bleeding.

"Clever girl," she murmured. She tore off her shawl and pressed it into place.

"Someone ask the cabbie to come help her into the vehicle," she said, doing her best to keep the tremor from her voice. She allowed the tears to fall naturally, but she turned her gaze up and met a man's across the way.

She heard their voices around her but didn't process. She merely gazed into Molly's face and kept her hopes fixed on the soft breathing she could still see.

"Your heart still beats, Molly," she managed to whisper. "And it must. I could not bear to lose you. Not now….not when we're so close. Your heart stops and mine does as well. I've been a fool to give my heart away before, and I fear I'm a fool again. But I cannot find it in myself to care. I'm yours Molly, dearest. Please. You mustn't leave me. You mustn't."

* * *

 **A/N: Dearest readers...I know it's been ridiculously long since my last post...and I hope you can forgive me…**

 **I've been busy with the end of summer camp and then moving to France, and I'm still busy here dealing with immigration and paperwork and getting ready to teach classes. It's been a little insane to say the least. However, I fully understand that you might not want to read due to the long break. I myself have been known to unsubscribe from stories that take too long to give updates. I'm here to say I still want to finish this, so if you'll stick with me I should get it done! We're past the halfway point and that should mean it will go faster from here on out! Anyhow, no flames please, just press unsubscribe if you're done. No worries!**

 **Thanks to those of you who still reviewed and all that. :)**


	17. Chapter 17

She awoke with a gasp. The first sensation she was aware of was pain. Inescapable pain.

Molly jerked and found her hand reaching for the spot where the ache seemed to be coming from. There were bandages wrapped there, a small patch of wetness that she knew must be blood. Her eyes closed again as she tried to process where it was. It seemed to be low enough to have missed anything crucial. She was hesitant, but poked a finger along it, checking and finding that it wasn't as deep as she'd initially expected.

She opened her eyes again, staring up at the ceiling and then managing to turn her head slightly to look around the room.

While she might have expected a hospital, the room looked…ordinary. A dresser in one corner with a wash basin and a mirror. A curtained window and one closed door.

Molly did her best to push herself up, wincing as it forced the wound into an uncomfortable position. It was probably best to lie still, but not when she had no idea where she was.

Her eyes trailed down over her body, finding herself dressed in a loose nightgown, nothing hiding her breasts. Well, at least she'd been found in female clothes. Perhaps this wouldn't be…quite the scandal she was envisioning. If she was safe that was.

She scanned the room for a weapon. Something she could use to protect herself if need be.

The door swung open. Molly jerked up clawing at the bedsheets as she tried to pull herself into a better position. Her whole body tensed in anticipation, only to find Mary's familiar face peering at her, a small smile forming as she realized Molly was awake.

"Good morning. May I come in?"

Molly managed a nod, doing her best to relax again, pain lessening as she sank back into the pillows.

"What…what happened?" Molly managed to gasp.

Mary sighed and shut the door behind her. "You were attacked on the streets. Your friend brought you here."

"Friend?" Molly asked, tilting her head.

"Yes," Mary said. She came forward, her hand brushing over Molly's forehead. "Still a little fevered, but much better than yesterday. How are you feeling?"

Molly winced. "Fine. I've been comatose since…yesterday?"

"You were running a fever yesterday," Mary said. "John tended you. He'll be relieved to see you're doing better. He was quite worried."

"And Holmes? Has he been by?" Molly whispered.

Mary frowned. "He's in the parlor. John was…not pleased to say the least."

"Why?" Molly asked. "Because of what happened earlier?"

"Because he has some notion that Sherlock Holmes is in love with Irene Adler," Mary said with a roll of her eyes.

Molly sat up. She yelped and put a hand down to touch her wound again, reminded that she needed to take it slow.

"Irene Adler…is here?"

Mary frowned. "Your friend? Yes. Downstairs. Talking with Sherlock."

Molly's eyes closed.

"Now, let's change those bandages, and if you're up for it we can try some soup. How does that sound?"

Molly shook her head. "No…I…need to see Irene."

She tried again to sit up, pushing against Mary's hands and trying to rise out of the bed. One of her legs slipped from beneath the covers, goosebumps appearing on the skin as it met the cold air.

"No no, back to bed with you," Mary said. "You are still recovering. I'm not allowing your condition to worsen.'

A hand was on her legs, forcing them back into the bed. A wave of dizziness swept over her. She allowed Mary to guide her back against the pillows, pulling the blankets back over her.

"Rest," Mary said. "It will be fine."

"Please, I need Irene," Molly whispered. "Bring her to me… please."

Her eyes were closing of their own accord. She felt Mary's hand on her temple before she passed out again.

* * *

Irene's first concern had been for Molly's safety. While having her cared for was crucial, she couldn't risk the possibility that she might still be a target. Nor could she ignore that taking her to a hospital might risk public exposure that would ruin the woman forever. No, even with this, Molly's career as a man still had some importance. Irene knew how much it meant to her.

So she'd asked the cabbie to help her lift Molly into the cab and then drive straight for Dr. Watson's residence.

He'd been reluctant to admit her at first, but on sight of Molly all pretenses had fallen away. Irene was shoved into the parlor while John had the servants take Molly up to the spare bedroom.

After that began waiting. John cleaned, stitched, and bandaged the wound. From there it was simply watching for signs of infection, caring for the fever.

Once allowed, she'd been at Molly's bedside. After that, she had done little else. She'd seen the curious looks from Mary Watson and a few wary ones from John Watson as well. She'd ignored them all. Her fingers pulling Molly's hand closer. Eyes focused on her. Taking every breath, every feverish turn as a sign.

She was at Molly's bedside when Sherlock Holmes had turned up.

Her hand dropped Molly's when the door opened. Although she was well aware that Watson likely had no desire to expose her, she still wasn't willing to risk it. And she was grateful that she had when she turned to find the great detective himself standing in the doorway. Watson was a short distance behind, frowning sullenly.

Holmes's eyes were on her in a second. Irene merely smiled and turned towards the door.

"Sherlock Holmes, to what do I owe this pleasure?" she purred.

"I'm here to see what happened to…Hooper," Holmes said after a long moment. "Why are you here?"

"I'm merely seeing to the recovery of this girl I found in the streets," Irene said. She glanced at Molly, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest. Holmes's gaze on her was so intense she could practically feel its force. She allowed herself to smile, tilt her chin upwards, even if she was beginning to feel herself cracking. For Molly, she'd remain strong.

"Oh is that so," Holmes muttered. "I thought you'd left England. By all accounts that was the last I'd heard of you."

Irene sighed and rose from her chair. "Perhaps we can discuss at greater length downstairs Mr. Holmes. I'd hate to disturb the young lady. I'm sure you and I have much to catch up on."

Watson looked back and forth between them. "Or perhaps not. It might just be better—"

"Watson, I have this handled," Holmes said, voice suddenly tighter than normal. "If you'd leave us be I believe we can discuss on our own."

A muscle in Watson's face twitched, but after a long moment he disappeared back down the hallway. Irene heard his heavy footsteps as he turned and walked further down the hallway. There was a door slamming and they were left in peace.

The detective raised a brow and looked her over once. Irene did her best to keep herself as collected as possible, even as she wondered how much Sherlock could read in her very posture. Would he guess?

Irene moved to the door, doing her best to not turn back towards Molly. It was tempting, but she somehow managed to stay focused.

She walked down the stairs at a slow pace, noting that Holmes was fidgeting some, clearly anxious to have some answers. The poor man. Simply too lacking in skills to figure it out himself.

Irene entered the parlor. She took a seat on the settee without waiting for Holmes, settling herself down and straightening her back, looking at him with her chin raised.

"What is it you want?"

"Answers," Holmes muttered. "Like always."

"Then deduce them Mr. Holmes," Irene purred. "Not that hard surely."

"I'm afraid, Miss Adler, that I am short on patience at the moment. You will answer my questions. What are you doing here? Why are you involved with Hooper? Are you behind these murders?"

Irene smirked. "I have absolutely no reason to answer your questions. I owe you nothing anymore, Mr. Holmes."

He stared at her long and hard. "I could find ways to make your life unpleasant. Perhaps even put you in danger. I know some of your enemies as you remember."

Irene tilted her head. "Perhaps you do. I also know some of yours."

Holmes fingers tightened. Irene watched a vein throb in his forehead. After a long second he spoke again, voice somehow tighter.

"What do you want, Miss Adler?"

"Oh," she said, smiling. "How thoughtful of you to ask. For now how about some tea?"

Holmes blinked once. "And after the tea?"

"You to leave me at peace? Is that too much to ask?" Irene asked.

There was a pause where he looked at her, eyes running all the way from top to bottom. When Irene met his eyes she could practically see the deductions running through his mind. His attempts still going, trying to grasp at something when she clearly wasn't giving him the answers he needed.

"I've done that for years now," Holmes said. "All that requires is you staying out of my way. And yet, I'm sensing you've been doing the exact opposite. Quite the increase in odd clients I've had recently. Anything you'd like to share with me?"

Irene smiled. "I think I'll keep my secrets. And I'm afraid there are times I must get in your way, Holmes. Don't start thinking you're special."

Holmes paused again and stared at her. "And how does Hooper fit in?"

Irene did her best to keep her face impassive. "The little morgue attendant? Been having her run some extra tests and such for me. Easy to do knowing her secret…quite simple blackmail."

She watched to see if he'd been able to extricate any of the truth from that. However, his gaze remained steady. Irene smiled.

"Hooper has certainly been behaving oddly," Holmes muttered. "So the extra clients. Hooper's behaviors. The rumors… those…they have to be from you as well. It's not as if anyone else knows about the reality. Was that really necessary?"

"Oh trust me Holmes, I could have done far worse than rumors," Irene said. "I could have destroyed you if I'd wanted to."

"You of all people should know what those kinds of rumors can do," Holmes hissed. "With the Regina v. Wilde case…well… you should know what could happen."

Irene sighed and looked away. "Yes Mr. Holmes, I keep up with current news well enough. I'm aware you could face possible imprisonment and Mr. Watson as well."

Holmes eyed her. "And you have no sympathy for that?"

Irene smiled. "I have sympathy when it suits me. In your case, Mr. Holmes… well one must not become too sympathetic towards someone who could be their undoing. I know you… too well perhaps. I know that you find weakness and you exploit it when need be. I'm not giving you mine."

He turned and paced over to the window. She watched his hands fold behind his back, his spine stiffening as he stared out into the street.

"Still married?"

Irene swallowed. "I left the fool in America. Had no more use of him."

"So who's the new toy?"

Irene sighed and settled back into the settee's cushions. "I'm still searching."

"I think you've found one," Holmes said. He turned and looked at her, brow furrowing. "You're protecting someone. I know that much. You've been reckless with your heart before… it's happened again hasn't it? Pity you just led me right to your weakness. Who is he?"

Irene was just about to reply. She'd formulated a response, carefully trying to hold back every small part of herself that wanted to jump into a defense. She knew she had to be careful with this. Too much emotion could expose her.

However, before she could speak there was a knock.

"Come in," Holmes said.

Mary poked her head in.

"Excuse me for interrupting. Miss Hooper came to…and she asked for you, Miss Adler. Appears she's gone under again…but if you'd like to see her"

Holmes's head tilted. "Well that's of no importance. I'll go see to the girl myself."

Mary blinked a few times. "I believe you were not who was asked for, Sherlock."

Irene tried to keep her face stony. "I'll be up in a moment, thank you."

The door closed again and they were left in peace. Irene stayed seated for a few extra seconds, even as her heart began to pound. Molly was awake. Alive. Safe. She took a deep breath and moved to her feet.

As she turned to go, Holmes caught her wrist. She looked back, meeting his icy gaze.

"This isn't over. I will figure out what you're up to, Miss Adler," Holmes said. "And once I do…" he left the threat empty, but his gaze was enough to tell her how serious he was.

"You do that, Mr. Holmes," Irene said. "You do that."

She pulled her wrist from his hand and moved towards the door. Every part of her wanted to run up the stairs to Molly, but she forced herself to take a slow pace.

One step at a time. One long breath. Anything to create a calm and collected image she needed. Hooper was merely supposed to be an acquaintance. She couldn't give herself away. Especially with Holmes nearby.

Irene opened the door to the bedchamber. A maid dipped into a curtsy.

"She was just stirring ma'am. I'll leave you two in peace."

Irene thanked her and watched as the door shut behind her. She hesitated, a finger on the lock. It would be so easy to turn it. Give herself a little privacy to truly have at Molly as she wanted to.

However, were Holmes to turn up a locked door might be even more damning. She debated for a moment before finally taking the metal in her fingers and twisting. The bolt slid shut.

Irene walked over to the bed, heels clicking on the floor. She paused, looking Molly's form over, watching as the sheets slid down lower revealing soft skin and the creamy fabric of her nightgown. In any other context it might have been erotic, but the sight of the dark bandages just barely visible beneath the gown was enough to quell her desire.

"Wake up," she whispered. "It's all right, Molly. You're safe. Wake up."

There was a moment where Molly's brow twitched. And then, after what felt like several minutes, those beautiful brown eyes opened. Dark lashes fluttered on pale cheeks and then Molly was gazing up at her.

"Hello," Irene said softly. She did her best to keep her voice steady, but somehow she found tears pricking at her eyes.

"Irene," Molly breathed. "You're… all right."

"Yes," Irene said. "And it looks like you're finally coming around too. Tougher than I'd expected. See, you were right. I had no reason to doubt you."

Molly winced and tried to sit up. Irene pushed her back with a soft shush, sitting down on the bed herself and reaching out to run her fingers through Molly's small curls. She smiled and tilted her head.

"I thought I was going to lose you," she admitted. Her voice caught suddenly and there were actual tears there, one rolling down her cheek without her even realizing. "I…for a moment I thought it was over. That you were…gone."

Those lovely eyes widened. Molly's hand reached out and caught her own.

"But I'm stronger than that," Molly whispered. "You won't lose me so easily."

"Yes no I see that," Irene said. She let out a gasping sob and suddenly all the emotions she'd been holding back came lose.

Molly suddenly pushed against her, and then the other woman was sitting up and moving into her arms.

Irene was helpless but to let her, real tears flowing fully now, trickling down her cheeks one by one and landing in that soft familiar hair. She let her arms squeeze a little tighter, not daring to let go. Her eyes closed and she curled her fingers into Molly's shoulders hard enough that it probably hurt.

"I can't lose you," she breathed. "I… I love you."

There was a gasp. And then Molly was wriggling in her embrace and pulling away, eyes huge as she stared up at her.

"You…"

"Yes," Irene said. She hardly dared to believe it herself. But it was time to be truthful. With Molly and herself. "Yes. I do. I truly do, Molly."

Molly's mouth opened and then closed again. She turned her head away and then her eyes were closed.

"I'm sorry," Irene said after a moment. "It's perhaps too soon for such things. But I nearly lost you without being able to say it. I…I cannot do that again. I cannot risk letting it go unsaid."

Molly's eyes opened again and she turned to look at Irene. A lock of hair had fallen into her eyes, but she didn't push it away. She stared for a long moment before the smallest corner of her lips turned up into a smile.

"I love you too."

Irene thought she might simply float away. Her body felt suddenly so light. She smiled and reached out to cup one of those soft cheeks, pulling that face a little closer. Her lips brushed against Molly's once softly and then again with a little more passion. She let herself press a little closer, heeding Molly's wound but still daring to push for more intimacy.

She hardly dared to believe this could be possible. Her arms caught Molly up again, pulling her close. Simply knowing she was safe had been enough. Knowing she wanted Irene… well that was heaven.

* * *

 **A/N: Um… apologies for long breaks in updates again. I…got a girlfriend? Um… so…has been a little harder to update with being so busy. Good news is now I have some proper inspiration (turns out I'm actually more like Irene than I thought…like…wow no wonder I love writing her) and also have someone to push me to write. I'll try to be back again soon! Hope you enjoyed the update in the meantime!**


	18. Chapter 18

**I realized that femslash February has passed us again (which was when I started this work). Hence I've decided to focus more attention on trying to finish it. Hope you'll enjoy as I wrap things up!**

 **Also check out my femslash oneshots if you haven't! They are fun!**

 **WARNING: There will be femslash smut in this chapter. If that bothers you please skip over this section. The work is rated mature for a reason.**

* * *

After another day Molly was at least able to hobble out of bed. As much as she enjoyed spending time with Mary, she was eager to have some of her own space again. Watson was a talented doctor, there was no denying that, but she was well enough to tend herself for the time being. And she'd be glad to move away from his judgmental gaze.

She moved to the chair to grab the dress Irene had clearly laid out before heading to her own room for the night. Molly looked it over, admiring the soft blue fabric of the dress. She ran her fingers over it. If only there was a way to have both of these things. To be true to her feminine identity while still maintaining a profession that she wanted.

She slid the garments on one by one, finding her hands trembling slightly.

After she was finished she turned to admire herself in the mirror. With the short hair it felt off. A sudden confusing mix of masculine and feminine that had her feeling a bit sad. She touched at her face, wondering what Irene could possibly see in her. Perhaps she did only like her for the male "Miles Hooper". She'd insisted she didn't, but nonetheless.

Molly was interrupted from her thoughts by a knock on the door.

"Come in."

She turned just in time to see Irene step in. The other woman paused in the doorway, eyes moving up and down over Molly's form.

"And that dress is as lovely on you as I'd imagined," Irene said with a smile. "Quite nice in fact. Those lovely curves of yours…"

Molly flushed, turning to look back in the mirror. "I always thought they were a bit small. I mean…easier for pretending to be a man I suppose. But… well."

She looked away, not eager to see her reflection again. Everything felt wrong.

"Molly."

Irene's hand caught her chin and forced it back up. Molly glanced in the mirror, though this time she was caught in the image of Irene's stormy eyes, still roving over her figure.

"You're lovely, my Molly Hooper," she whispered. "And don't you dare say otherwise."

A shiver ran down her spine, especially as the other woman's hands moved to slide over her sides. She trembled as a sudden warmth flooded her. The soft touch through the fabric, somehow causing her to feel like she might melt.

"I…I don't feel like I am," she whispered. "I…I've spent too long playing the part of a man."

Irene's fingers tightened on her sides, almost to a point of pain.

"You would make any man very happy, Molly Hooper. You're forgetting Sherlock Holmes himself asked for your hands. And you've been engaged once over. How can you possibly deny your attractiveness? And besides that…" she smiled, "I quite like most of the aspects of your personality too. Your strong will. Your passion. Your intelligence. My lovely beautiful Molly."

Molly flushed and looked away again. "Thank you."

"Good girl," Irene whispered. "Now, I'm done dealing with the Watsons for a while."

"What?"

"Let's go home," Irene offered.

Home. The word made Molly tremble again. For too long home had been a cold flat with Toby and little else. Now there was more. Irene.

* * *

Irene took her hand and Molly accepted. She led her to the door, down the stairs, never once letting up her grip. Molly allowed her to help with her coat in the entry way to Watson's place. Mary poked her head out of one of the doors and smiled.

"Ah, leaving? You do look much better."

"Yes, thank you for caring for me," Molly whispered.

"My pleasure. You look after yourself, dear." She paused and looked at Irene and smiled. "Well, you might not need to anymore, but regardless…be careful. I'd hate for anything to happen to you."

"I'll be all right," Molly said. "But thank you again."

Mary nodded and disappeared back into the parlor. Irene smoothed a soothing hand down Molly's arm, leaning over to peck at her cheek.

"There now, that wasn't so bad. Let's get you home, darling. I think you could use a little more rest, but preferably back in my bed."

Molly managed a smile at that, even as her heart began to beat a little faster. In _her_ bed. Though she'd already shared with the woman before, that didn't change the fact that this felt somehow even more intimate.

A lick of heat made its way down from her belly, causing her to swallow. She didn't know much about the ways of things, but a woman like Irene would surely know how to make it pleasurable.

An image of herself in a nightgown, the fabric bunched up around her knees. Irene's classic smirk as the woman did something lovely with her fingers. She swallowed.

"Something the matter darling?" Irene asked as they climbed into the cab. "You look flushed?"

Molly shook her head. "I…I'm fine."

Irene smiled and reached over to fiddle with her wig, sliding the piece more firmly in place. Molly met her eyes, noting the tenderness there. How would she ever get used to this?

"Just settle in then, and we'll be home soon."

Molly nodded and settled back in her seat. Her eyes wandered over the London landscape as the cab drove through the familiar streets. She wondered again how she could possibly have become lucky enough to use the word home in this context. A sigh escaped from her lips, and she snuggled in against Irene with a smile.

* * *

Irene had to admit it was nice to be back. She slid her arm into the crook of Molly's guiding her towards the door and smiled as the girl followed along after her.

She found it so easy with the other girl. So comforting to have her there at her side.

Once she'd opened the door, she made sure to slide each of the locks shut. She managed a sigh before she pulled Molly up to her flat, making sure to lock the doors there as well.

Molly settled down on the settee, her hands folded in her lap. Irene admired the mix of masculine and feminine traits coming together, as Molly began to remember her old manerisms. There was something quite charming about it.

"Would you like some tea?" Irene said.

"Yes please," Molly said. "And then…would you perhaps come sit with me?"

"Of course," Irene said, smiling at the thought of Molly wanting her near. "You just rest there and I'll be back in a moment."

She went to set a kettle boiling, pulling out two cups and saucers.

"Remind me how you take it," Irene said.

"Milk if you please," Molly said.

Irene smiled. She brought out the china to set at the coffee table before bringing out the kettle and pouring hot water for them both.

"How are you feeling?" Irene asked.

Molly looked less flushed. Her cheeks still were a little pink, but not enough to concern Irene. She put a hand to the other woman's forehead, relieved that her temperature seemed somewhat normal.

"I'm feeling all right," Molly said softly. "Just… tired I suppose. Otherwise happy to be back here. With you."

Irene had to admit there were few things in the world that she would find more pleasing to hear than those words. They sounded truly lovely on Molly's lips.

"I'm glad," Irene said. She picked up her tea to have a sip, watching over the rim of the cup as Molly did the same.

"Irene?" Molly whispered, setting her cup back on its saucer.

"Yes?" Irene said, straightening at the tone of Molly's voice.

"Thank you," Molly said suddenly. "For…everything. I couldn't have imagined this would be…" She paused and swallowed. "I know we haven't known each other all that long."

Molly set down the cup, the china clinking noisily. She settled back on the settee, flushing again.

"No, not all too long," Irene admitted. "But that doesn't mean I don't know you, Molly."

Molly's eyes met hers, lashes fluttering lightly. "You do?"

Irene smiled and moved in closer. She took up Molly's hand from where it was twisting in her skirt. She traced her fingers over the other young woman's, tracing the soft skin on her ring finger, trying to imagine how the band might have looked there.

"You're beyond dedicated," Irene said, squeezing lightly at Molly's hand. "So strong, and smart, so willing to put yourself into your craft with everything you have. Your love for medicine stronger than your love of life almost… to an extent where you'd be willing to die and be reborn… to allow Molly Hooper herself to slide away. And yet you haven't forgotten who you are, or where you come from, or allowed yourself to become so absorbed that you lose yourself. That level of balance. That's incredible, sweetheart."

Molly's teeth came out to nibble at her bottom lip, worrying the soft skin until the pink seemed to become a little more vibrant. Irene eyed those lips, wondering if she dared ask for another kiss. It was tempting, but at the moment she knew she needed to let the little doctor figure things out for herself. This was all too new.

"I just… never thought this might be possible," Molly said. "To be happy. It was always one thing or another. Always a husband or my passions. To imagine that this might… it wouldn't be easy I presume. We would still have to hide things. Still have to…"

Irene nodded. "No, it wouldn't be easy. Things never are for people like us. But that doesn't mean we can't find some happiness. People always do."

She traced her hand over Molly's again, before letting it move up her arm, admiring the soft fabric of the dress, the way the cut accentuated the soft curves on her, showed off the feminine aspects that had been hidden for two long beneath the more masculine suits.

"You look lovely," Irene said after a moment.

Molly sighed and looked away.

"Thank you," she said after a moment.

"I know I'm breaking away from the seriousness of your chosen topic," Irene said softly. "But I think it might do you some good. We can talk about the future at another time, Molly Hooper. For today… I'd simply like to enjoy the present. Is that possible for you?"

Molly smiled.

* * *

Tea was lovely. Molly couldn't deny that. However, as Irene went and pulled a favorite book from the shelf and offered another to Molly, it was easy to settle into a certain natural rhythm. Molly read for a time, losing herself to words.

She did, however, begin to grow tired of the book as Irene seemed to move closer to her on the settee. When the other woman's hand settled on her thigh, she closed it.

"You said you wanted to live in the present," Molly said.

"I did," Irene said, closing her own book.

"Then…while I admit I like reading…perhaps there are…other things that we could be doing."

Irene tilted her head slightly, blue eyes sparkling. "And those things are? I'd do almost anything with you, Molly. I think there are very few things I wouldn't enjoy in your presence."

Molly hesitated, setting the book to the side before letting her eyes rove over Irene's figure. It took her a moment to decide what to do. Her hand settled on Irene's arm first, before she leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Irene's lips.

"Oh," Irene said when she pulled back. "Well that was nice."

Molly swallowed and pushed closer, her hand trailing down over the other woman's side, admiring how warm she felt. Perhaps she'd grown used to the touch of cold flesh. For too long she'd been absorbed into her studies of the body, but never in this respect.

"Molly."

She looked up at Irene who was smirking.

"What was that now, my darling Molly? Not that it wasn't wanted, because I assure you it was, but I am curious to know what possessed that kind of behavior."

Molly swallowed and looked away. She wasn't quite sure herself. All she knew was that suddenly it was all too much. It was as though there had been a hearth waiting and ready within her, kindling prepared and all, and Irene had been the spark to set it off. With her beautiful and intriguing personality she'd pulled Molly out of the world she'd known and into her own.

Her entire body relaxed as Irene pulled her closer, until they were pressed together. Irene tilted her chin up, making her stare into those gray blue eyes, sparkling slightly even in the low light.

"What is it, Molly? Talk with me?"

She shook her head. "It's not easy," Molly admitted. "But I, would assume that I'm just a little overwhelmed with emotions at the moment. And I don't know what to make of them. I don't know what to do from here. In the rest of life everything has been so simple."

Irene laughed. "Simple? My darling, you disguised yourself as a man in order to work as a doctor. How is that simple? That's beyond anything I've ever seen before."

Molly flushed again. "It was what needed to happen. If I wanted to be a doctor. It's not as though I could make myself a man. But I could at least pretend to be one."

"And that's quite impressive," Irene said, smoothing a hand over Molly's side. "Is that some of your trouble with me? Is there a sense of sacrifice? I know you left love once."

"I wasn't in love with Tom," Molly sighed. "I just…yes I suppose that is some of it. With you there is a sense that maybe it would all have to end."

"We could find a way to make it work," Irene said softly. "I just know one thing, Molly. I won't lose you again. Not like when I thought you were dying."

Molly swallowed. "I…I would like to try things too. I'm still just, nervous."

"What would make it easier?" Irene said softly. "Do you want me to reassure you that I won't turn my carnal desires on you if you don't want me to? We can take this slow.'

"What if I'm never ready?" Molly challenged.

"Then we will proceed as we are," Irene said, tilting her head. "But I am curious if you are interested in that at all my innocent little mousey?"

Molly blushed, wondering if she could possibly turn any redder. She looked to the floor so she didn't have to stare into those intense eyes any more.

"Yes," she whispered.

When she thought about it, she supposed she was at least curious. Too many women she knew made it sound like a duty. However, she knew a little of anatomy, and she knew for a fact that her own fingers could make her feel some amount of pleasure. With another person, she imagined that might be more so.

She knew her moral side should see this as a bad thing, that she shouldn't be doing this so easily. Perhaps it made her a less worthy woman in some way.

But she'd grown so used to not following the rules. To throwing conventional ideas out the window. Whether that was needing to be feminine, or not reading books, or not studying medicine, or needing to find a husband. None of that mattered to her any longer. So why not take this last step.

Her gaze met Irene's.

"I…I'd like to," she said softly. "If…you're willing."

Irene smiled. "There's nothing I'd love more."

Irene took her hand. Molly rose and followed after her, swallowing slightly as she tried to calm her racing heart. Perhaps this was foolish, but at the moment her brain couldn't find a single logical reason why she shouldn't give in.

They were in the bedroom all too quickly. Molly looked back at Irene as she made her way to the bed. She watched hesitantly as Irene approached, a lascivious smile growing on her lips.

"Don't look so nervous," Irene whispered as she pressed a soft kiss to Molly's cheek and then a few more down her neck. "You can ask me to stop at any time. However, if you'd like, Molly Hooper, I'd love to show you how pleasurable this kind of thing can be."

Molly smiled and leaned in to the touches. She met Irene's gaze and nodded.

"I know, I…I want to."

"Good," Irene whispered.

Irene's hands move to her dress, working on the various fastenings until at last it slid off. Molly waited patiently as Irene worked to help her with the petticoats as she'd foregone the corset due to her wounds. In a matter of moments she was left only in her light underclothes, almost entirely exposed to Irene's gaze.

"I…should I help you?" Molly whispered.

"If you'd like?" Irene said, tilting her head. "Or you could allow me to focus on you, which would you prefer, darling?"

"I'd prefer to do things together," Molly whispered. "I…I'd prefer that."

She folded her arms lightly over her top, waiting for Irene to undress.

It took a few minutes, and Molly did eventually move to help. But once they'd finally undone the corset and pulled it from Irene's torso, Molly smoothed her hands over the soft white fabric and looked over the natural curves of Irene's body. She looked absolutely lovely.

Molly slowly pulled her underclothes off and sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Irene, watching as the other woman removed her garments as well.

"You look so beautiful," Molly managed to whisper.

She looked over Irene, admiring the soft pale tone of her skin, her full breasts and thighs, perfectly rounded hips and a tuft of dark hair in the v of her legs.

Molly drew in on herself a little.

"No need to hide from me, lovely. You are quite beautiful yourself. Now come, I want to see you."

Molly flushed but finally did pull her arms away so that Irene could examine.

She couldn't help but compare. Her own measly curves and her moles and scars and every other flaw that lingered there on her body. She'd grown so used to treating it as foreign, wrapping herself up in men's clothing and pretending it wasn't there. But it was. And she couldn't ignore that now.

Irene pushed her back on the bed and slid in beside her. Molly trembled slightly as one of Irene's hands began a journey downwards, sliding along her side until it came to rest on her hip. Irene stared at her for a long moment.

"You are lovely, Molly," she whispered softly. "I never want you to doubt that."

Molly blushed and looked away slightly, but Irene soon had her chin in her hand and was pulling her back.

"I want to show you pleasure, Molly Hooper."

Molly shuddered. It was hard to focus when she could feel warmth pooling in her lower half, starting in her belly and moving lower. God, could it feel so amazing without having even done anything?

Irene smiled and leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips. Molly found herself relaxing into it, allowing Irene's lips to stay on hers, that soft inviting tongue to come out and coax her own into playing. She let out a soft moan as Irene's taste flooded hers, as the press of that mouth became more insistent and demanding, even as the hands wandered further.

Irene pulled back. "Tell me what you want."

"Y-you," Molly said.

Irene smirked at that and leaned in to press a softer kiss to her lips.

"Well, that can easily be arranged. No specifics?"

"I…don't know enough…to know what to request," Molly admitted.

Irene nodded and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek next, eyes never leaving hers.

"Then will you let me show you?"

Molly nodded. She looked at Irene, watching as the other woman's hand slid down her body, pausing at her breast, fingers closing around one of her nipples.

"This should feel nice," Irene said softly. "There are so many pretty parts of you to play with. I'm going to take my time with them, I think."

Molly let out a plaintive moan, arching into the touch. Irene was right, it did feel amazing.

She shifted on the bed, hips arching as she gasped.

Irene smirked at her slightly before dipping down to kiss at her neck and her collarbone.

"Let me give you a more thorough anatomy lesson, Molly Hooper. You might find you like it."

Her mouth worked further downwards, pressing soft kisses. Molly was startled by the ones on her hips, even more so when Irene spread her legs apart, a finger tracing along her more intimate parts even as she smiled up at Molly from her position.

Molly found herself shivering. Even if she'd been reluctant, she couldn't deny she wanted more. She'd take everything Irene would give her. And likely still be left wanting.

Her mouth fell open as the first lick came, followed by another longer one. The heat of Irene's tongue right where she wanted it. Molly gasped and squirmed, stopped only by Irene's hands on her hips, keeping her steady. Holding her down.

She let her eyes fall closed, allowing herself to surrender to the sensations of it.

After a few moments Irene stopped and pulled away. Molly found herself shivering more, so eager for the touch to return. She opened her eyes and stared up at the woman who was crawling back on top of her.

"Easy now kitten, doesn't have to be fast."

A whine escaped, stifled only when Irene pushed another kiss to her mouth. For a moment she was unsure about kissing after such things had passed, but within seconds she didn't care.

They kissed for a while until Irene slid her fingers back to play with Molly again. Molly arched again, this time meeting warm skin against hers, rubbing her body against Irene's.

"You're so lovely," Irene whispered. "My word I love you, Molly Hooper. So much."

They kissed again and Molly let out a cry as a finger entered her.

"Tell me if it hurts at all," Irene whispered. "It shouldn't. Some discomfort but not pain."

Molly hissed slightly. "I…I don't know it's…strange."

"It takes some adjusting," Irene whispered. "But soon you'll be used to it. In time you could take more. A man… a toy. We'll have to test and see."

Molly's eyes opened. "I don't want a man."

Irene laughed and nodded. "I can see that well enough, darling. Now shush and let me play with you. Or aren't you enjoying this?"

Molly's eyes fluttered slightly as Irene found a spot that sent heat trailing through her entire body. How could she have gone so long without this? It was amazing.

And the fact that it was Irene… beautiful, talented, intelligent Irene. It just made things even better.

They kissed once or twice more. Molly let her body tense, pleasure coursing through it as Irene kept her hands precise movements going. She gasped into Irene's mouth and let her eyes flutter shut for a mere moment.

"There," Irene purred before pulling away, wiping her fingers on the sheets. "You work with death so often, Molly… but I suspect that's the first time you've experienced one yourself. La petite mort is quite satisfying is it not?"

Molly let out another rasping breath and pulled Irene closer. She nuzzled into the other woman's neck and remained there silent.

* * *

Irene's hands traced down her bare back in a soothing rhythm, causing her to let out a sigh of contentment and then yawn softly.

Irene let out a soft laugh, burying her own face in Molly's hair.

"You sleep now," she said. "You deserve it."

"Thank you," Molly whispered. "Irene…I…love you."

Irene smiled and pressed a kiss to her head. "I love you too, Molly. More than you can know."

Molly's eyes closed and body relaxed. Within a few moments she was breathing deeply clearly fast asleep.

Irene held her for a moment longer before finally allowing herself to slide away. She leaned Molly carefully back into the pillows, sliding the covers up over her naked body. After a moment of staring at the other woman she knew what needed to be done.

Molly was so beautiful. So precious. If she'd thought her relationship with Kate was love she'd been mistaken. It couldn't begin to compare to the woman she currently d in her bed.

And that was all the more reason to make her decision.

Irene sighed as she pulled away. She hated to do this, but it needed to happen.

"I love you sweet, Molly. And that means I cannot leave you knowing you are in danger."

She eyed the bandage on Molly's abdomen. The mere thought of almost losing her was like haa burst of fire to her heart, furious and angry and unbearably painful. She couldn't take it.

"I'll keep you safe," she whispered softly.

She turned and walked to the door. With any luck Molly would sleep for a while longer. What she'd put in her tea should guarantee it. Perhaps it had been foolish to sleep with her. But Irene had to admit restraint wasn't something she used much, at least beyond the typical bedroom fun.

She sighed as she closed the door behind her. No, this was exactly what needed to happen. After all, she was the target the killer really wanted. And once either she or the murderer was dead, Molly could finally be at peace.

* * *

 **A/N: Yeah sorry for the long break. I'm going to try hard to finish this work up. Good news…sort of…is that I'm single again so yay more time to write…maybe less motivation however. We'll see. Thanks for your support dear readers. Means so much to me!**


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